


Donnabelle

by RiverEagle



Series: Donnabelle [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Female Bilbo, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Miscarriage, PTSD, Romance, Rule 63, Warnings May Change, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 50,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverEagle/pseuds/RiverEagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU what if story.  What if ‘Bilbo Baggins’ was more than what she appeared, and had a far tougher life than any dwarf (or Gandalf) suspected… and she still chose to follow the dwarves on their quest for Erebor.  Fem Bilbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the time, I will indicate what language is being used the first time I use it unless it's Westron (Common Tongue). All rights belong to PJ and JRRT.
> 
> Movie-verse for the characterisation of most major characters, book-verse for most ages – bar Bilbo (who is 39 in my story, instead of 50/51 in the book). If an event in the movie (mainly from AUJ) happens in my story, I’m not going to rehash it, unless I’ve changed something.
> 
> Ages:  
> Thorin is 195, Balin is 178, Dwalin is 169, Oin is 167, Dori is 162, Gloin is 158, Bofur is 153, Bifur is 148, Nori is 147, Bombur is 144, Ori is 132, Fili is 82 and Kili is 77  
> Donnabelle "Bilbo" Baggins is 39 (her birthday is in September)

“Gandalf,” the dwarf at the door said by way of greeting.  He straightened his shoulders as the grey wizard stepped aside from the open door to allow the regal dwarf entry to Donnabelle ‘Bilbo’ Baggins’ smial.  “I thought you said this place was easy to find.  I lost my way.  Twice.”  The dwarf spotted Dwalin, Dori and Ori beside the door as he entered.  Nodding briefly to his brother-in-arms, Thorin almost ignored the other two in favour of talking to Gandalf.  He reached up and unclasped his outer cloak just as he continued; “I wouldn’t have found it at all if it hadn’t been for that mark on the door.”

“Mark?” Donnabelle complained.  “There is no mark on my door.  I had it painted a week ago.”

Thorin raised his eyebrow at the fussy little thing that had appeared from behind Dwalin to berate the wizard.  As of yet, the hobbit hadn’t looked in his direction.

“There is a mark, I put it there myself,” Gandalf returned calmly.  “Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company…”  Donnabelle turned to the dwarf Gandalf was introducing and almost took a step backwards as the wizard finished, “Thorin Oakenshield.

Thorin gave a brief nod, handing his cloak behind him to Kíli.  “So, this is the Halfling.”  The hobbit in question looked offended at the term ‘Halfling’ that, if said by an outsider, was offensive to any hobbit.  The regal dwarf ignored the dark look sent his way and began to circle his host.  “Tell me, Mr Baggins, have you done much fighting?”

“Excuse me?”  Donnabelle growled out, trying not to take offence at both the insult to her race, and to her gender.  Not that she could really blame the dwarf for assuming she was male.  Most, if not all, of her present company knew her name to be ‘Bilbo’ (a decisively male name, if they were asked), and for good reason.  The only person she thought may have known her actual name would have been Gandalf, and then she highly doubted the wizard actually knew.  The reason for her legal name – for that is what Donnabelle thought of her name of ‘Bilbo Baggins’ – was for her safety.  She was born with the rare gift of the Tooks: she had the ‘gift’ to change most of her physical features (save her ears) to resemble _any_ one else.  And currently, she appeared (and sounded) as though she was a male hobbit.

“Axe or sword?  What’s your weapon of choice?”

The hobbit frowned at the question.  “I do have some skill with a skillet if you must know, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Thorin snorted and looked slightly back at his company.  “Thought as much.  He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”  He moved to head off out of the welcoming hall when the hobbit spoke up.

“Are you trying to offend me, Master Thorin?  Because you are doing a mighty fine job of that.  Obviously, you know _nothing_ of hobbits.”  She glowered at the gathered dwarves before returning her attention to the dwarf that had angered her the most since Dwalin first graced her doorway.  “If I catch _any_ of you calling me a Halfling again (I am not half of anything), you will live to regret it.”

“Why?” Kíli chortled.  “I thought that’s what you called yourselves.”  The young dark-haired prince cowered slightly as Donnabelle narrowed her crystalline blue-grey eyes at him.

“Would you like me to call you a stone-heart?”  Silence met her query.  She knew perfectly well that no dwarf liked being called a stone-heart outside of friendly family insults.

“Nice way to insult your guests,” Gandalf cut in before any of the dwarves could act on their anger.

“I meant no offence,” Donnabelle said sweetly.  “I know _that_ term is only used amongst dwarves; it’s the same with Halfling.”  The dwarves nodded their acceptance of her apology, realising that they had unwittingly insulted her by calling her something only her relatives could.  And it was only then that Gandalf realised how put out the little hobbit was with the company he’d brought to her door when she turned to face him.  “ _My_ guests Gandalf?  As I recall, I only invited _you_ to dinner tonight.  You mentioned _nothing_ about hosting dwarves, or providing bedding, as I only assume you are all staying the night?”

Thorin looked toward Dwalin and raised an eyebrow.  Perhaps his first impression of the hobbit was wrong: if she was able to stand up to both _him_ and _Gandalf_ within the space of a few minutes, then she must have a spine.  Dwalin smirked slightly and nodded, seemingly thinking along the same lines as his king.

“If it isn’t too much trouble, Master Baggins,” Thorin cut in before the hobbit could fume further at the wizard.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey through the Misty Mountains and how the dwarves (and Gandalf) finds out about Donnabelle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many people have sent me messages saying that they are getting a little confused about how the dwarves know and keep ‘thinking’ of Donnabelle as a female, I have decided that in this chapter, I will purely use the name of ‘Bilbo’ and masculine pronouns until right near the end of the chapter. Reminder, the dwarves think that their hobbit is male (when in fact, she's female)...
> 
> Timeline:  
> Leave Bag End in late April, arrive in Rivendell in late May, leave Rivendell in late June (June 20). Get rescued by the eagles 8 July.  
> Info for timeline found at: http://gary.appenzeller.net/TheHobbitChron.htm

Three days out from Rivendell Thorin sat apart from the others, watching as the little hobbit interacted with his company.  The exiled king wasn’t sure what it was about Bilbo that drew him.  He was above all of that: or thought he was.  When she appeared on their trail, just as they were just beginning on their journey away from Hobbiton, he wanted to roll his eyes and ignore the hobbit’s grin.  And later that same day, when he forgot his handkerchief and wanted to return home for it, Thorin growled low in his throat: his opinion of the hobbit lowering further than that of being a ‘grocer’.

He’d decided very early on that the  _hobbit_  (he had to remind himself not to call him a halfling, even inside his head) wasn’t worth his time.  Bilbo was skittish when Fíli and Kíli had begun teasing him about a night raid by orcs; he’d expected better from his two nephews, but having the hobbit jump at every little thing on the road did  _not_ endear the small creature to him.  It was then that he decided that their burglar was more of a hindrance and burden to their quest than anything else.  The incident with the trolls seemed to have cemented that opinion.  It seemed that since being on the road, he’d lost the backbone he displayed while they were in his home.

Still, as they set up camp each night, he couldn’t help himself but seek the small hobbit out.  If only with his eyes.  There was something about Bilbo and the way he carried himself that seemed to get everyone in the company to seek his approval, each in their own way.  Fíli and Kíli found in the hobbit someone they could tease: and still the hobbit kept them in line when they pushed too far.  Ori loved the books and stories he knew and shared.  Nori found the hobbit as someone to teach the tools of his trade to.  Dori enjoyed a good conversation with Bilbo about the finery of clothing and the cut of a cloth.  Bombur; it seemed like the hobbit was someone who shared his love of food.  Bofur (and by extension Bifur in some ways) enjoyed a hearty song just like the hobbit; they also shared a love of children it seemed and were often seen watching over the younger three dwarves of the group.  Óin he won through his knowledge of plant life and was able to add herbs found along their journey to his first aid kit.  Glóin he won by asking him about his family.

Dwalin, Thorin hated to admit, had been won back in Hobbiton when Bilbo berated both Gandalf and Thorin moments after he met the dwarf king.  (The hobbit also cemented Dwalin’s protectiveness toward him when he acted as though he wasn’t afraid of him, which hadn’t really make sense.  Near all who first met the bald warrior were afraid of him.)  And Balin was sort out because of his love of history, and perhaps because he was seen as the fatherly type.

Two months after their journey had begun, it seemed like he was as much a part of their group as any one of the dwarves.  In fact, he doubted they would be such a cohesive group if it weren’t for Bilbo’s efforts to find his own spot amongst them.  He seemed to bring them together as a  _family_  group, despite their faults, instead of individuals with their own set of skills.

And it seemed, over those two months, despite his intent of keeping his distance and not wanting to like the hobbit; Bilbo had changed his mind and had softened his heart.

“A gem for your thoughts?”

Thorin looked down to the hobbit that was perched on the log next to him.  He hadn’t even noticed Bilbo join him.  He didn’t say anything at first; instead, he took a puff from his pipe.  Bilbo didn’t seem to mind.  Bilbo, too, took out his pipe and began smoking.  Most nights the hobbit joined him, they passed the evening in quiet companionship; smoking and just watching the company before it was time they went to bed.  It was something Bilbo had begun not long before they arrived at Rivendell and something that, despite Thorin wanting solitude, he looked forward to when the hobbit  _did_  join him. 

“Why did you…” he began, and then fell silent.  He couldn’t help but smile slightly when he remembered how she had stood up, and defended,  _all_  of the dwarves when asked by Elrond why he was travelling with them.  Or the time when he offered her whole-hearted support that  _he_  wouldn’t follow his grandfather’s footsteps into madness after they had overheard Elrond and Gandalf’s hushed discussion of the quest, and of Thrór and Thráin.

Bilbo turned his attention to look up at him and frowned.  “Yes?” he asked quietly.

His cheerful attitude was something that still confused the dwarf leader.  It was as if the hobbit knew all of them personally and for far longer than just the two months they had travelled together.  When none of the other dwarves dared approach him, the hobbit did so without hesitation.  Only Fíli and Kíli had ever done that, and that had only been when they had been dwarflings.  What caused the most confusion in the exiled king was in the way the hobbit treated each and every one of the dwarves as though they were his equal; he didn’t act as if he was beneath them, or they were beneath him.  He had bristled at the company early on, when the hobbit first sought him out, he found that it was refreshing to have Bilbo sit in silence beside him, offering him his quiet support.  He found that it actually helped him focus and clear his mind.  For that, he was thankful, and by the time they reached the Misty Mountains, he began sending the hobbit a small, grateful smile every now and again.

“Why did you decide to join me, that first night?” he asked.

His frown deepened.  “Do you mean, why did I join the company?”

“No.  But that too.  I mean…” he paused, struggling for words.  “When I wanted to be alone, that first night you joined me.  The others would have told you that wasn’t the wisest action you made that night.  Why did you?”

Bilbo shrugged.  “Maybe I could see you just needed someone to sit with you that didn’t judge.  And could perhaps understand a little.”  Thorin raised an eyebrow and looked down at him.  “My grandfather was Thain of the Shire.  The Thain is the closest we hobbits have to a king.  It’s now passed to my cousin, and unless he has children, I would be next in line.  You see, it’s a hereditary position.”

Thorin pulled his pipe from his lips.  “You?”

“Yes.  Thankfully, Fortinbras’ wife is expecting their first child.”

He laughed a little at that.  It sounded like the hobbit did  _not_ want the responsibility of ruling the Shire.  He stopped suddenly when the hobbit turned his attention on him with a glower.  Thorin had the decency to look chastised, if only a little.  But he didn’t add more to their conversation.  Sensing his mood shift slightly, Bilbo returned his attention to her smoke rings, and they passed the rest of the night like that.

In all that he had done for the company, and had brought them together, Thorin didn’t once think to ask Bilbo about his past.  None of the dwarves ever thought to ask  _him_ about how he was coping, or even realise that he rarely spoke of his own experiences.  They were so focused on their own journey and their own goals that they overlooked the smallest member of the company.  It was a credit to the hobbit that he never once let his own pain, and his own longing, show beyond the occasional mention of home.

**THTHTHTH**

It all came to a head the night they were caught in the thunder battle between the stone giants of the Misty Mountains.  The night that Bilbo thought he was about to die from falling over the edge of a cliff.  It didn’t help when Thorin, the dwarf he felt closest to (despite his gruff exterior toward him), risked his life to pull him to safety.

“I thought we’d lost our burglar,” Dwalin commented after he helped pull both Bilbo and Thorin to safety.  The smallest member of the company scuffed his feet and couldn’t bring himself to look up at any of the dwarves.  Instead, he gazed at his grazed palms.

“He’s been lost,” Thorin Oakenshield spat out as he glared in the direction of the hobbit (and not really meaning it; Bilbo had come to mean more to him than he cared to admit), “ever since he left his hobbit hole.  He has no place amongst us!”

The hobbit in question set her jaw but still didn’t bring herself to look up at the gathered dwarves.  He knew that Thorin didn’t really mean it, but the comment dug into him more than he expected.  In a way, he knew deep in her heart that Thorin was right, that he’d been lost since walking out of her hobbit hole; but he’d been lost a lot longer than any of these dwarves actually knew.  Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes.

“You’re right,” he whispered suddenly in the stillness before the dwarves had time to gather themselves and move on.  “I’ve been lost since I was snatched out of my home as a child.  And I thought I’d be able to find myself coming with you lot.  Fat lot of good that’s done.”  He hoisted her bag back up onto his shoulders and started up the mountain again.  Still, he refused to look at any of them, especially Thorin.

“What do you mean by that?” Fíli asked.

Bilbo stopped and looked back at Fíli.  And he felt his breath hitch in his throat as he saw another dwarf of similar appearance in Fíli’s place.  Everything over the past two months that he’d kept bottled up seemed to want to explode out of her.  “None of you ever thought…  I was four when slavers took me.  If it hadn’t been for nadad…”  He trailed and cleared his throated, not really sure what he was trying to say.  Looking away from the dwarves he was with, Bilbo looked down at his feet.  “I thought I’d find my place again if I was with his kin.”  He began moving off.

“Your brother’s a dwarf?”

“He was.”  Fíli and Kíli frowned, trying to work out how their hobbit could possibly have a dwarrow for a brother when she didn’t remotely look like a dwarf.  The other dwarves were puzzled as well by the claim Bilbo had made.  “I was sold to the same people who owned my brother,” he explained.  “He took me under his protection, and treated me like any protective brother would, even though we were of different races.”

Many of the dwarves were shocked by his admission.  Nothing they had seen from Bilbo had ever pointed in the direction he had once been a slave.  Yes, he had been a little skittish around the elves at first, but who could really blame him for that?

“What was his name?” Balin asked.

The hobbit didn’t reply.  Instead, he followed the pathway of the mountain up and into the nearest cave.  The dwarves followed her, and it wasn’t long before they were all bundled up inside a cave and asleep.  All except Bofur on first watch, Thorin, and Bilbo.  Her bedroll was the furthest away from the cave entrance, away from most of the other dwarves.  They huddled together in their family groups: all except him and Thorin.  He shifted slightly and rolled over, only to find Thorin staring at him.  Unexpectedly, the hobbit sneezed and started shivering.

Thorin refrained from rolling his eyes.  “Hobbit,” he called to him in a low rumble and beckoned him to his side.  The hobbit hesitated briefly but remembered another dwarf offering him his warmth.  It seemed the only thing he could think of to do as a way of apology for his earlier comment. 

“Thank you,” Bilbo whispered as she settled down at Thorin’s side.  “If nadad were here…”

“Would he have come?” the dwarf prince asked, curious about the dwarf the hobbit once knew.

“Yes.”  He looked down at his feet and back to the spot he had occupied earlier.  “Was what you said earlier really necessary?”

Thorin was quiet; unable, or unwilling, to answer Bilbo’s question.  The hobbit, if the dwarf king were honest with himself, confused him.  One minute, he was this soft, delicate creature that seemed more suited to a life of peace; and in the next, he had more backbone than any other creature he’d met before.  How else could he explain how the hobbit had found the strength to stand up to three mountain trolls (and  _him_  he had to admit) while also fussing over personal space and handkerchiefs?  He felt him shift slightly closer to him for warmth.  Not really knowing what possessed him; he rolled onto his side to face the hobbit and wrapped his arm around him.  He remembered other times as well, where he’d sort him out to encourage him with a soft word, or just quiet companionship that helped far more than he was willing to admit, or even when he gave him his word that he’d help him through the sickness that lay on his family.

“No,” he finally whispered, “it wasn’t.  For that, I am sorry.  Get some sleep.”

Bilbo smiled slightly when he felt Thorin pull him closer.  And for some reason, he felt like he could trust this dwarf that reminded him so much of his brother.  “His name was Frérin, son of Thráin.”

Thorin almost released his hold on the small figure drawing comfort and warmth from him in his surprise.  The reason being the hobbit had just claimed to have known his brother, a brother he’d thought had been lost forever at the battle of Azanulbizar.  That would explain why it seemed the hobbit knew the dwarves personally, especially the older ones within the group.  Before he could really question it, he caught sight of Bilbo’s elvish blade glowing slightly from within its scabbard.

“What’s that?” he asked.

He blinked owlishly and frowned as he also caught sight of his blade.  Reaching out, he grabbed a hold of the blade and began to draw the sword.  The hobbit froze as it dawned on him what his glowing blade really meant.  Thorin pushed himself up into a half sitting position and looked around the cave.  And then at the crack appearing in the cave floor.

“Wake up!  Wake up!”

The dwarves barely had enough time to rouse themselves before the cave floor dropped away beneath them.  Their fall into the cage trap seemed to take an age, and it didn’t take long before the fourteen members of Thorin’s company were surrounded by goblins of various shapes and sizes.  And not one of the dwarves noticed Bilbo’s disappearance as they grappled with their captors along the way to the goblin king’s audience chamber.

The Great Goblin looked down upon the thirteen dwarves brought before him, and the pile of weapons his ‘minions’ had removed from them.  “Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom?” he spat, waving his pronged sceptre at them.  “Thieves?  Spies?  Assassins?”

“Dwarves, your malevolence.  We found them on the front porch.”

“Well, don’t just stand there.  Search them!  Every crack; every crevice.”  As the goblins did as they were commanded, the Great Goblin looked the dwarves over again.  “What are you doing in these parts?”

Thorin looked around the area, trying to spot the small hobbit.  He was still trying to come to terms with the simple sentence about his brother he’d whispered to him just before they were captured.  But he also heard the question presented to them from the goblin king.  Just as he was about to step forward, he felt Dwalin at his side and Óin’s hand on his arm before the healer stepped forward claiming to be the leader.  Taking a deep breath, Thorin gathered his thoughts.  Now wasn’t really the time to think about what Bilbo had said, or how the hobbit had known his brother.

Then, when the goblin king seemed to not believe either Óin’s tale or Bofur’s, Thorin stepped forward.

“Well, well, well.  Look who it is.  Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain,” the Great Goblin wheezed, with a nasty smile and a half bow.  “But I’m forgetting, you don’t have a mountain;” Thorin winced at that jab; “and you’re not a king.  Which makes you… nobody really.  I know somebody who would pay a pretty price for your head.  Just your head, mind you, nothing attached.  You might know him.  An old enemy of yours.”  The exiled dwarf king blinked, desperately trying to work out whom the goblin king was talking about.  The Great Goblin smirked as he continued with his mocking.  “A pale orc astride a white warg.”

“Azog the Defiler was slain.  He died in battle long ago,” Thorin retorted, shock and anger lacing his voice.  There was  _no_  possible way that the pale orc that slaughtered his grandfather (and had been responsible for many of the deaths of his kin over the years) had survived the wounds he received at the gates of Moria.

If possible, the Great Goblin’s smile grew even more sinister.  “So you think his defiling days are done, do you?”  He laughed.  Turning to his messenger goblin, the grotesque king gave his next command.  “Send word to the Pale Orc.  Tell him I have found his prize.”

He turned back to the captive dwarves and began singing, just as the other goblins were bringing up the Bone Breaker.  It was only then that one of the chief captors took a closer look at the dwarven weapons removed from their ‘guests’.  And Orcrist was discovered, causing the goblins to fall all over themselves to get away from the blade that sliced a thousand necks.

That was when Gandalf decided to show himself with a flash of light and commanded the dwarves to take up arms.  And take up arms they did.  They fought their way from the throne room, through suspended walkways until the Great Goblin stopped them once again.  Gandalf, in response to the goblin’s taunts, slashed Glamdring through the goblin’s great belly, and then through the goblin’s neck and goitre.

The bridge the company were on pulled away from its holdings, and cantered down the steep cliffs below them.  They’d escaped – if only briefly.  When Kíli spotted the goblins clambering down the cliff sides to reach the escaping dwarves, he called out to Gandalf.  Gandalf thought quickly.

“There’s only one thing that can save us: daylight.  Come on; on your feet.”  The wizard led the thirteen dwarves through the tunnels and out into daylight.  As they get a safe distance away from the exit, Gandalf took it upon himself to count the members of the company to make sure they all escaped.  It came to no surprise that he came up one short: “Where’s Bilbo?” he demanded as his eyes searched the company for the smallest member.  The dwarves started looking amongst themselves when they realised Gandalf was correct; Bilbo wasn’t amongst them.

“I last saw him with Dori,” Glóin put in, looking to the dwarf in question.  Others started looking toward Dori.

“Don’t look to me!” Dori protested.

“Who saw him last?” Gandalf demanded.

 “I think I saw him slip away just as they first collared us,” Nori added.

“Tell me exactly what happened.  Quickly!”

Thorin glowered.  “I can tell you what happened.  The hobbit hasn’t thought of anything else but his warm hearth and soft bed since we first left the Shire!”  He knew that it wasn’t entirely true.  In fact, Bilbo had hardly talked about his home, or his past, since joining the company.  “He saw his chance and took it.  We will not be seeing our hobbit again.  He is long gone.”   _When had he become_ their _hobbit?_ Thorin thought.  And then,  _I just hope he took his chance._

“No,” came a small pained voice from the track the dwarves had come from.  All in the company spun around to face the hobbit just as he stepped out from behind a tree.  “I’m not.”

Gandalf took a step toward him, but the hobbit shielded away from him.  The wizard frowned as he looked the hobbit over but seemingly ignored it in favour of exclaiming his happiness.  “Bilbo Baggins!  I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life!”

The hobbit laughed slightly and took a few more steps into the gathered ring of dwarves: steps that brought him closer to Thorin as well.  His face was pale, and the dwarves closest to him began frowning.  There was something different about the hobbit, but they weren’t sure what.

“We’d given you up for dead!” Kíli said.

“How did you get past the goblins?” Fíli asked.

“How indeed?” added Dwalin.

Bilbo gave them a tight smile and limped further into the circle, stubbornly trying to think of something while slipping the ring he’d found into his waistcoat pocket.  He felt Gandalf’s eyes on him, and before the wizard could come up with something, he shook his head.  “Will explain later,” she grunted, her voice reflecting her pain… and it was distinctly female.  She winced and pulled away from Balin when he came into her personal space and laid a hand on her left shoulder.  Balin frowned before he realised  _why_  she’d moved.

“You’re injured?” Balin asked.

“I fell, just after I escaped the goblins,” she answered, again sidestepping Balin’s offer of help.

“Balin, wait,” Thorin said, focusing his attention on the hobbit.  Gandalf and the other dwarves stopped their approach to help the injured lass.  Said hobbit turned her attention to the dwarf.  “You were raised by a dwarf.”  Bilbo nodded once, cradling her left arm to her chest and wearily looked toward Bofur as he inched closer to her.  She took a small step in Thorin’s direction.

Now that they weren’t being chased, and that he could stop and think things through, Thorin frowned and looked the hobbit over.  There were times he could recall when the hobbit would disappear somewhere on her own (though never far enough away that she couldn’t call for aid if she needed it and never for long) to relieve herself or to bath.  Other times, especially when he’d watch Bilbo sleep while he was on duty (he couldn’t help it, she’d wormed her way into his heart, just like he guessed she’d done with everyone in the company), he’d noticed her features changed slightly and had become more feminine.  Sometimes, when she’d been especially angry or frustrated, her eye colour had changed, and her hair had lengthened slightly.  At the time, he’d shrugged it off, but hearing a hurt female voice coming from an oddly strange hobbit, things were more than a bit confusing.

Thorin took in a deep breath and closed the distance between himself and the hobbit.  She didn’t shy away from him as she had the rest of the company.  That was when the dwarves remembered: whenever one of their own was injured, the dwarf in question first sort help from within their immediate family, even if there was a trained medic in their company.  He looked down at her and whispered, “Where does it hurt?”

“My shoulder.”  Raising her right hand, she indicated the area that hurt.  Thorin nodded and raised his hand to examine the area before he paused as if to ask if he should continue.  She gave him a small nod and allowed him to run his hand over her collar bone and shoulder.

Balin exchanged looks with Dwalin.  If Thorin was examining the hobbit and the hobbit was letting him, then that meant one of two things: Thráin had sired another son since Azanulbizar that Bilbo called ‘brother’ (as none knew what had happened to Thráin after the battle), or Frérin had survived the battle without any of them knowing.

“It doesn’t feel broken,” Thorin concluded, noting the pale face of his hobbit.  “But you  _will_  get Óin to have a look at it as soon as we’re a safe distance from the goblins.”  Donnabelle nodded in acquiescence.  He stepped back slightly and frowned down at the Shireling.  There was only one thing he felt he could ask after piecing together that the hobbit wasn’t being entirely truthful about her gender.  “What shall we call you?”

The hobbit worried her lower lip briefly (she knew that her answer would change things between her and the company) and answered: “My name’s Donnabelle.”

He closed his eyes briefly before he opened them again and focused on her face.  “You’re female?” he questioned quietly, but it reverberated around the company.  Donnabelle nodded slowly, and the jaws of the company dropped.  Thorin frowned and asked, “Can you explain the name 'Bilbo' then?”

“It’s my legal name,” Donnabelle returned softly, unable to look up at the regal dwarf as he turned to stare stonily at Gandalf.  Gandalf was in as much shock as the rest of the company, having believed the respectable ‘Bilbo Baggins’ had been male;  _not_ a female disguised in male clothing.  Before any of the other dwarves could clarify that  _their_  burglar was a woman and had hidden the fact for two and a half months they had travelled so far, they heard in the distance wargs howling.

Thorin tore his gaze from Donnabelle.  “Out of the frying pan…”

“And into the fire,” Gandalf finished.  “Run.  Run!”


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Languages**  
>  “Westron” (Common tongue)  
>  _/Elvish/_ (Mostly Sindarin)  
>  _~Iglishmek~_ (Dwarvish sign language)  
>  **~Khuzdul~** (Dwarvish spoken language)  
> Most of the time, I will indicate what language is being used the first time I use it, but this is a good reminder just before I start using it. All rights belong to PJ and JRRT.

Thorin drew in a quivering breath and stirred.  Blearily, he opened his eyes to see Gandalf kneeling over him with a worried look.  A frown crept across Thorin’s face as he wondered what the look was for.  Then, with rushing clarity, everything from the time they’d escaped from the goblin tunnels until he had passed out after Azog’s attack coursed through his mind.  Their flight from the wargs; their clamber into trees to escape the yapping jaws; _Azog_.  He suppressed a shudder as he remembered the hatred that had coursed across the orc’s face – and the absolute horror that had surged through his own veins when he’d laid eyes on Azog.

Other things filtered through as well.  He could still feel Donnabelle’s hand gripping his shoulder; anchoring him to the tree and to that moment instead of allowing him to be drawn deeper into his memories of when he’d lost his grandfather, father and brother.  He even remembered how her voice had trembled when she’d whispered his name.  Then there were the flames – Gandalf’s doing – and the wargs finally knocking over the pine the dwarves had been huddled in.

And, oh Mahal, his choice to take on Azog alone.  A choice, he knew, that almost lead him to his death, if it hadn’t been for one brave little hobbit.  One courageous, fragile _woman._

“Donnabelle?”  His voice cracked, even around that one word.

“It’s alright, she’s here,” Gandalf responded.  “She’s quite safe.”

He rolled onto his side, and knelt, allowing Dwalin and Fíli to help him up to his feet.  He had to school his features into holding back a grimace as his injuries made themselves known.  Then, he spotted Donnabelle hanging back, looking anywhere but at him.  Shrugging Dwalin and Fíli off, Thorin took a step toward the hobbit.  Seeing her alive, and in one piece, was a relief to his already battered heart.  He’d already lost too much to Azog to see another member of his family fall before the pale orc.

“You!  What do you think you were doing?” he asked the lass.  He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a growl.  That would be the pain talking, he thought.  “You could have gotten yourself killed!”  Donnabelle’s face seemed to fall, even when she managed to bravely bring her gaze up to meet his.  Thorin did not even need to see Dwalin, Balin, or even his nephews’ faces to know they realised he was yelling out of his pain, and relief, to see the hobbit all in one piece.  They knew him well enough to know that his bark was far worse than his bite; and exchanged knowing smiles when it dawned on them that Thorin cared deeply for their burglar, more than probably the dwarven king even realised himself.  “Did I not say you would be a burden?  That you would not survive the wild and that you had no place amongst us?”

That last comment seemed to have pulled Donnabelle out of her stupor.  “Me?” she yelled back.  “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.  What the blazes were you thinking confronting _Azog_ like that?  No.  Don’t answer that!  Obviously you were not thinking.”  She drew in a shuddering breath and allowed a few tears escape from the corners of her eyes.  “Did you not consider how _your_ death would affect this company?”  Her lower lip trembled as she added, “I don’t want to see another… another dwarf I…”

Thorin couldn't help drawing in a small, shuddering gasp before showing her his relief she was still with them, and that he was there to see it.  He approached her with a tender smile on his face and enfolded her in his arms.  She clung to him and buried her face into his collar.  In response, he allowed his own face to bury itself in her hair.  “I'm sorry I ever doubted you.”  After what seemed an age (yet not long enough for either of them), he pulled back, not quite releasing her from his embrace, and gently wiped away her tears.  “Did Frérin know how incredibly amazing you are?”  She smiled and nodded slightly.  He returned the smile and rested his forehead gently on hers. 

Someone cleared their throat (Thorin suspected it was Balin) and Donnabelle finally pulled herself together enough to pull herself from Thorin’s embrace.  She blushed slightly at being caught drawing comfort from the dwarf king.  It didn’t stop the other dwarves from cheering, though.  The hobbit was glad that the eagles returning to their eyries drew the dwarves’ attention away.  It wasn’t long before she was shyly looking back at Thorin.  Thorin smiled tenderly at her, before his gaze drifted upward, and over the hobbit’s shoulder.  Donnabelle frowned slightly before she followed his gaze.

“Is that what I think it is?”

The other dwarves and Gandalf turned at Donnabelle’s question.  “Erebor,” Gandalf answered.  “The last of the great dwarven kingdoms of Middle Earth.”

Thorin took Donnabelle’s right hand in his left, a smile on his face.  “Our home,” he breathed.

“Mine too?” the hobbit asked hopefully.  She had no desire to return to the Shire; she felt that she never really fit in there, despite being a hobbit and living most of her adult life in Hobbiton.  The title her cousin held (that she was currently, perhaps, in position to inherit,) would pass to his child.  There was nothing really for her there anymore, except the empty hobbit hole her father had built for her mother.  She barely remembered her birth parents; her father died during the Fell Winter before she returned to the Shire, and she had only been reunited with her mother a year at most before Belladonna Took-Baggins passed away peacefully in her sleep.  But the dwarves; she felt she understood them more than her own people.

“If that is your wish,” Thorin promised.  He saw her beam up at him and he felt a fluttering deep in his chest.

“Home,” Donnabelle repeated.

The company took another long look out toward the Lonely Mountain, before someone (Nori) broke the silence.  “So… lass?”

Donnabelle looked around at the gathered dwarves and she squirmed slightly.  “Yeah,” she admitted.  “I am.  Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” Glóin said.  “Just want to know how you managed to hide it for so long.”

“And were you ever going to tell us?” Bofur asked.

“Eventually yes,” the hobbit began with the last question and took in a deep breath.  “At first, after you all insulted me, I wanted to put you all in your places then and tell you all who I was.  But I knew nadad wouldn’t have let me come, me being a woman and all, so I figured Thorin would be worse.  So I went along with all of you thinking of me as male until it’s too late to send me back because I know Frérin wouldn’t send me off alone into the wild and he must have learnt it from somewhere.”

Thorin was about to open his mouth to refute her logic and then decided to keep it closed.  Darn it, the hobbit was right.  Knowing that she was female, and under his protection, he knew it was far too late to send her back to relative safety (even to Rivendell) on her own, and he couldn’t spare any of the company to escort her there.  And though he did not want to agree with her earlier statement about Frérin being protective, he also knew Donnabelle had stated the truth: he _was_ a lot more overprotective than Frérin.

Dwalin snorted slightly.  Oh, he liked the hobbit even more now.  No wonder she didn’t seem afraid of any of them if she could judge Thorin so well from what she knew of Frérin.

“But… you acted like you weren’t interested in joining the company,” Kíli said.

“I was more angry at _Gandalf_ for inviting you all into my smial without a ‘by your leave’!  As for me hiding…  This doesn’t leave the company.”  She turned her focus on Gandalf and glared at the wizard.  “It goes double for you, wizard.”  When she felt the questioning stares of the dwarves (and Gandalf) on her, her voice trembled as she explained: “Promise me.  It’s more than my life at stake here.”

“There are others… like you?” Balin asked.

Donnabelle turned to Balin and nodded.  “Yes.”

“We will protect this secret, and you,” the white-haired dwarf promised.  Donnabelle gave him a small smile and waited until each of the company promised to protect her secret.

“I’m trusting all of you not to hurt me in _any_ way when I tell you this.  In the Shire, I am something that we call a ‘changeling’.  My name is Donnabelle, but my legal name is ‘Bilbo Baggins’.  I can change my appearance and voice to look and sound like anyone I choose.”

“What does that mean?” Dwalin asked.

Donnabelle swallowed hard, knowing the best way for her to get her meaning across was to show them.  She looked toward Thorin, and he frowned at her.  Then he felt his eyes widen when her features morphed into a more feminine version of the hobbit they knew.  Her chestnut-coloured curls lengthened from a shaggy mane to sit just below her breasts.  He had to draw in a deep breath when he registered her _curves_.  Before him stood a decisively _female_ hobbit, looking so much like her male disguise that it would have been hard to tell them apart if he hadn’t seen the change himself, and if they were the same gender. 

She gave him a shaky smile before she turned to face the other dwarves as well.  “I don’t change much of my physical appearance when I… uh…”

“Pretend to be male?” Fíli quipped, trying not to let her change in appearance affect him much.  (But _Mahal_ , the hobbit was attractive.)  The other dwarves were just as affected, trying to understand just _how_ Donnabelle could change her appearance.

“Yes,” the hobbit quickly agreed.  “It’s easier to hide when you don’t have to think too much.  And it’s habit for me to hide as a male so I don’t get kidnapped again.  I’m still the same hobbit you’ve come to know.  Just not a male.” 

“But how does it work?” Ori asked.

“One learns not to ask that Ori,” Donnabelle responded.  “I don’t know, and I’ve learnt that it’s safer not to ask.  I’ve just accepted it is part of who I am and has been part of my family for generations.  It’s something we don’t share lightly with outsiders…”

“Why?” Nori asked.

“Because…” she began and shook her head.  They wouldn’t understand the danger she was in unless she showed them.  “Thorin, don’t kill me for this.”

“For what?” the dwarf king asked, before an instant later, he was looking upon the very likeness of his younger brother.

“Hey, Fíli!  It’s you.”

Balin and Dwalin recognised the dwarf (in the slightly ill-fitting clothes of the hobbit).  “No, laddie,” Balin refuted.  “That’s not Fíli.”  Both brothers were pale at seeing their friend, and prince (though much older than they remembered him being), being mimicked by Donnabelle.  Thorin was just as affected, if not more so, as Balin and Dwalin.  After all, it had been 142 years since he’d last seen his younger brother alive.

Kíli looked between Fíli, Balin, Thorin and Donnabelle with a frown.

“Who is it then?”

“Frérin,” Donnabelle responded.  “Son of Thráin.  Younger brother to Thorin; older brother to Dís.”  She did a remarkable impression of the prince’s voice as well.  The dwarf blinked slightly and Donnabelle ‘reappeared’ (in her natural form).  She took a deep breath and gave them a sad smile, wondering if she’d caused the dwarves to hate her.  “It’s much easier for me to copy somebody I know well, and I knew nadad well…”

“If you can copy a dwarf…”

She nodded, understanding what Balin was getting at.  “I can copy _any_ race.  Hobbits are very fertile.  And if I get pregnant…”  She shuddered.

“I will _kill_ anyone who tries,” Dwalin growled.  Balin cleared his throat, but neither brother really needed to add _‘without consent’_.  It was implied.

“No one’s gonna get past us!” Nori and Bofur chimed in.

“You’re one of us, now,” Ori claimed.

Thorin watched as each of the dwarf clans claimed Donnabelle as their sister – unofficially of course – (Fíli and Kíli claimed her as their aunt; they figured it would only be a matter of time until she was officially their imad), and wished somehow that he could be a part of the group gathered around their burglar.  But until he sorted out exactly what she meant to him, he refrained.  Crossing his arms across his chest, the dwarf king glared up at Gandalf.  “Did you know?”

“No.  She was kidnapped?”

“She had been four when she was taken from the Shire.  I get the impression you were involved somehow.”

The wizard frowned and then it dawned on him.  He remembered meeting a very young Donnabelle one year, many years before, on Mid-Summer’s Eve.  She most likely had been four at the time.  After that particular party, he’d never received a cordial welcome again from the Tooks until many, _many_ years later.  He had always wondered why.  But if his appearance at Gerontius Took’s party had been in some way connected to Donnabelle’s (Old Took’s _favourite_ granddaughter) disappearance, then it wasn’t that far of a stretch that he _hadn’t_ been welcomed until after she had returned to the Shire.  Even then, he’d been looked down upon in the Shire ever since that party.

“I was not involved.”

“I highly doubt that,” Thorin growled.  He moved away from the wizard and started to look for a way down off the hilltop the eagles had dropped them on.

**THTHTHTH**

Donnabelle slid her braces off and unbuttoned the top of her shirt.  Sliding her left sleeve down so Óin could have a look at her shoulder injury; she looked over at where Thorin was standing (staring) at her exposed shoulder.  She tried not to squirm when Óin began prodding the dark blue-purple bruise along her collarbone.

“Other than the bruise, and some slight swelling, I don’t think anything’s broken,” Óin declared.  “But you best not use it much until the swelling goes down.”

“Thanks,” Donnabelle said with a nod.  She repeated her thanks in Iglishmek, which earned her a nod from the dwarven healer.  And then a frown.  _~Frérin taught me,~_ she explained by way of Iglishmek.  _~He thought it was important.~_   The hobbit gave the healer a smile and pulled her shirt sleeve up over her injured shoulder.

Thorin cleared his throat and both healer and hobbit looked up at him.  Óin gave one final nod to the lass before he gathered his things, leaving the dark-haired, brooding dwarf with their resident burglar.  The dwarven leader watched as the healer left, and then focused his attention on the lass.  “You know Iglishmek?”

“And Khuzdul.  Frérin taught it to me.”

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Thorin growled.

“Why not?” she returned hotly.  “He was like my brother!  My only family.”

“You are _not_ a dwarf.”

Standing, Donnabelle stepped into his space and glared at him.  “I never claimed to be a dwarf.”

Thorin glowered right back before he turned on his heel and stalked off.  Most of the company were trying hard to ignore the argument between their king and the lass but they were failing. 

“So…” Fíli and Kíli came over and stood either side of ‘their’ hobbit, trying to break the tension.  “What’s Uncle upset at now?”

The hobbit shook her head.  She knew they weren’t asking to find out information: the whole company would have heard the argument between her and their king.  It seemed the two princes really cared about their uncle.  “Nothing that won’t sort itself out.”

“Don’t hurt him please,” Kíli said.  “He really cares for you.”

“I know.  And I will try not to.”  She looked at the two princes and raised an eyebrow.  “Do you think Thorin’s the first son of Durin I’ve had to deal with?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "imad" is Khuzdul for "aunt"  
> "nadad" is Khuzdul for "brother"  
> 


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Company meet Beorn, the skin changer, and Thorin learns a little more of Donnabelle's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's now a companion piece to this chapter called "When Donnabelle met Frerin"

Donnabelle, being the smallest and lightest of the company, was sent to scout out the area at dusk two days later.  She wrinkled her nose but did as requested.  Keeping low, she peered over the top of the ridge the dwarves sent her up.  In the distance, some leagues away she guessed, she spotted Azog astride his warg.  The Pale Orc turned in her direction and she ducked down.  It was only then when she hid, she heard a snort, and then a roar, of something much bigger (and closer) than a warg.  Peering over the ridge once more, Donnabelle felt her eyes drawn to a closer ridge.  She paled slightly as she spotted the black bear surveying the landscape, and was thankful that the bear’s attention wasn’t focused in her direction.

Slinking away from the top of the ridge, Donnabelle was soon scampering down the hill and to where her dwarves and Gandalf were waiting.  Panting, she looked around them.

“How close is the pack?” Thorin asked.

“Too close.  A couple of leagues, no more.  But that’s not the worst of it.”

“Have the wargs picked up our sent?” Dwalin demanded.

“Not yet.  But they will,” she responded, taking in another deep breath.  “We’ve got another problem.”

“Did they see you?” Gandalf inquired next.  Before waiting for Donnabelle to answer, the wizard continued, “They saw you.”

“No.  Beorn!” the hobbit spat.  “We’ve got to go.”

“You know of Beorn?” the wizard asked, surprised that the hobbit knew of the skin changer.

 _“YES!”_ she hissed.  “His house is near.”  Looking around at the frightened dwarves (not nearly frightened enough, the hobbit thought), she pressed, “What are you all standing around for?  Run.”

“You’re frightened of this Beorn?” Balin asked.

“While he’s a giant black bear, yeah.  A bit.”

“A giant bear?” Bofur queried, horrified at that thought.  Turning to Gandalf, he demanded, “You knew about this beast?”

 _/Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!/_ Donnabelle murmured to herself in Sindarin and pointedly looked toward Gandalf.  Though she knew of (and had met) Beorn, and knew he lived in the area, she had not actually gone to the skin-changer’s home before.  When Gandalf didn’t look like he was going to do anything, the hobbit rolled her eyes and hissed, “Yes, now _run!_ ”

Gandalf snorted slightly at the hobbit’s mumbled comment and began leading the company toward Beorn’s home.  That fifteen of them were soon on the plains, running to the front doors and safety of the skin-changer’s house.

“Quickly!” the wizard called.  “Into the house!”  First Bombur, then the other dwarves, reached the giant doors of Beorn’s stables.  Donnabelle looked back over the field (as did a number of other dwarves) and saw Beorn the bear leap from the forest and come charging toward them.  Several of the dwarves threw themselves on the doors as if shear force would be able to open them.

Thorin, having the decency of thinking on his feet, pushed himself to the doors and lifted the latch that kept the doors closed.  Thirteen dwarves, one hobbit and one wizard tumbled inside.  It took them much effort to close the door behind them as Beorn’s bulk slammed into the door on the other side.

“What is that?” Ori asked.

Gandalf looked around the dwarves and gave them a tight smile.  “That is our host.  As Donnabelle has said, his name is Beorn.  He is a skin-changer.”  Some of the dwarves began wandering around their surroundings as the wizard continued his explanation.  “Sometimes he is a big, strong man and other times he is a huge black bear.  The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with.”  He stopped again and looked the dwarves over once more.  “I must warn you, he is not over fond of dwarves.”

Ori had his head against the door just as Gandalf finished his explanation.  “He’s leaving.”

“Come away from there!” Dori fussed.  “It’s not natural.  None of it.  It’s obvious: he’s under some kind of dark spell.”

Donnabelle, who had been farthest from Dori and the door, stiffened and felt her heart sink.  She turned from the dwarves (not one of them was really paying any attention to her anyway; they were too busy exploring the skin-changer’s home) and made her way into the stable, far away from the others.  Slipping on the magic ring she’d found in the goblin tunnels, she disappeared from sight to find a quiet, out of the way, corner to curl up in.

Gandalf, unaware of what the hobbit was doing, glared down at Dori.  “Don’t be a fool.  He’s under no enchantment but his own!” the wizard snapped.  “Get some sleep, all of you.  We should be safe here for the night.”  He didn’t add ‘I hope’, but he was definitely wishing that.

Bofur looked up from looking at the chess set and frowned.  He turned on the spot, trying to work out what was missing.  “Where’s Bilbo?”

The other dwarves stopped and began looking around the room for their hobbit as well.

“She was with Gandalf a moment ago,” Kíli put in (rather unhelpfully, as the hobbit was nowhere in sight.)

Nori replayed the last few minutes in his head before his eyes widened.  “Dori owes her an apology.”

“What?  Why?”

Gandalf quickly came to the same conclusion as Nori; Balin, Dwalin, Óin and Thorin all turned on the fussy dwarf and glowered at the oldest Ri brother as they too, realised what had happened.

“You offended Donnabelle when you insulted our host, Master Dwarf,” the wizard growled.  “You will not find our hobbit tonight unless she wants to be found.  She will be quite safe within these walls for the night.”

And, true to his word, not one of the dwarves found out where Donnabelle was when they searched the house and stable for her.  She was still not found by the time the dwarves and wizard settled in for the night.  Thorin, trying not to let his worry get the best of him, insisted on a watch being set up for the night, despite Gandalf’s reassurances.  Dwalin offered to take the first watch, knowing that Thorin would also stay awake until the hobbit was found.  Both dwarves knew that if Donnabelle were to show herself that night, it would be to one of them – or to Balin, who elected to take the second watch of the night.

Thorin settled himself at one end of the stables (closest to the living area) while Dwalin took the other end.  It was not until after all of the company, sans Dwalin and Thorin, had fallen asleep that the regal dwarf felt someone settle at his side.  He turned to look down at the hobbit at his side, a smile forming on his lips that died instantly when he took in her terrified face.

“Donnabelle?” he whispered.

 _~I can’t get out,~_ she told him, tears silently slipping down her face.

Thorin frowned and shot Dwalin a worried look before he focused his attention back at Donnabelle.  _~From where?~_

 _~Frérin…  We bought our freedom from our master.  He was taking me home to the Shire.  We made it as far as Rohan before we were caught by men.  I was angry at something he said or did, I don’t remember what now, and I couldn’t control…~_   Her hand motions were jerky, and Thorin was almost unable to make out what she was saying.  But when he deciphered what she was telling him, he felt his blood freeze.  _~They beat me… wanted to claim me…  Frérin stopped them.  He fought the men that called me unnatural.  Gave me time… he took a sword to his chest… he died.  There was no one to stop them.  Beorn came.~_

She looked away from him and bit back a sob.  Thorin knew that his next course of action (his only course of action) would have been frowned upon in _any_ of the dwarrow communities, but he trusted each of the dwarves with him not to judge, and nothing was going to happen.  Wrapping his arms around her, Thorin guided the hobbit to climb into his lap.  Tucking her head under his cheek, he ran a hand up and down her back just as he had done for Dís, Fíli and Kíli when they were younger and they’d come to him for comfort.  She buried her face in his chest, and finally released the tears she’d held onto for years.  He had tears in his own eyes and felt his voice hitch when he whispered that he was there and that he wasn’t going to let anything happen.

Dwalin, from his post on the other side of the stable, averted his eyes from the pair.  He hadn’t the eyesight to catch most of their conversation, but he could guess that whatever Donnabelle and Thorin had talked about wasn’t pleasant.  He shifted uncomfortably when he’d caught sight of his king gathering up the wee lass into his arms and saw the near silent tears streaking down Thorin’s own face.  Not that he blamed Thorin for wanting to comfort the lass after seeing her cry – the only other time the warrior recalled Donnabelle shedding tears (or being close to it) was when she’d first brought up Frérin on the other side of the Misty Mountains.  But Dwalin, son of Fundin, knew that to offer comfort to somebody outside of your immediate family was not something to be done lightly.  In fact, the mere thought of offering such comfort to someone that was not kin (even if said person had been claimed as kin by another member of your family) and the responsibilities that came out of it was enough to deter the most soft-hearted dwarf.  And the warrior knew that his king would be aware of such responsibilities as soon as he’d began gathering Donnabelle into his arms.  Dwalin set his jaw; Dori was going to get a few harsh words in the morning if the bald warrior had anything to say about it.  When he next looked over to the pair, Thorin was looking in his direction and didn’t look like he was about to relinquish his hold on the (now) sleeping hobbit.

 _~Morning,~_ Thorin sent to him, and Dwalin acknowledged the gesture with a nod.  He and Balin would take the watch for the night.  With that single exchange, Thorin settled down to sleep, content to have his hobbit safe in his arms for the night.

**THTHTHTH**

Balin gently shook Thorin awake at dawn.  Thorin stretched slightly and tightened his hold on Donnabelle when he realised she was still asleep in his arms.

“What is it?” Thorin asked groggily.

“I figured you’d want to be woken before the others,” Balin responded, eyeing the hobbit in his king’s arms.  Thorin noticed Balin’s gaze and realised what exactly the dwarf was thinking of and what it meant for the king.

“Not a word.”

“None,” Balin promised.  “It’s why I woke you up.  How is she?”

“She was upset last night.”

“Understandable.  Did she indicate why?”

“She was reminded of the day Frérin died.”

Balin closed his eyes and bowed his head.  “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the one that needs to apologise,” Thorin returned with a tight smile.  He turned his attention down at the sleeping face tucked into his neck.  Running a hand through her hair, he was thinking of the best way to wake the hobbit (though he was loathed to disturb her sleep) when she pulled away slightly from his probing fingers.  He frowned slightly before realising his fingers had brushed the top of her ear.  A slight smile graced his face as he ran his fingers over her ear again.  She pulled away once again and started squirming.  Of course, he told himself, her ears were sensitive!  Thorin bit back a moan as he began regretting making the hobbit squirm on his lap.

“Stop that,” she murmured.  Balin bit the inside of his cheek when he saw (and worked out) Thorin’s predicament.  The ageing advisor backed away, leaving the dwarf king to wake the hobbit up on his own.

“Donnabelle,” Thorin said firmly.  “It’s time to wake up.”

“Do I have to?”

He smirked to himself, knowing his reply would definitely get her moving.  “Not if you want the boys to tease us.”

She jolted up and slid off his lap, not really looking at him.  He allowed her to move off him (to his relief; he didn’t really want to explain his reaction to having her in his arms).  When she realised that other than Balin, they were the first awake, she glared at him and gave him a light slap on his chest.  “You’re mean!  I didn’t have to be awake just yet.”

“Really?” he returned.  He could just make out some of the dwarves stirring.  When Donnabelle stopped to take in the movement from the other dwarves, she pouted.

“You’re still mean,” she told him softly.  “I was having a good dream.”

“So was I,” he returned, with a smile and just as softly. 

“You’re not angry at me anymore?”

“I wasn’t angry at you,” Thorin admitted.  “We don’t share our language with outsiders readily.  And last night, I realised Frérin had been right to teach you.”  He gave her a small nod and would have added more but was stopped by the other dwarves waking and made their presence known.  They were blearily sitting up and realising that Donnabelle was ‘back’.  One of these dwarves was Dori.  When Donnabelle saw Dori looking in her direction, she started to panic.  Thorin looked toward the dwarf and glowered.  Balin noticed the dark look sent in Dori’s direction and moved to intercept so Thorin could focus on their hobbit.  “Donnabelle, look at me,” he commanded her tenderly.  She shyly did before she lowered her gaze.

He was not going to have any of that.  Gently, he reached out and lifted her chin so she could see his sincerity.  “Bunmel, whatever is in my power, I will protect you.”

Her eyes widened at the endearment that Thorin called her.  She wasn’t beautiful, or a prize amongst the other hobbits, so she didn’t really understand _why_ he’d called her ‘beauty of all beauty’.  When he saw her about to protest at his word choice, he signed _~You are to me.~_   She lowered her gaze again, and Thorin watched as a light blush spread across her cheeks.  Satisfied that the hobbit wasn’t going to disappear on them again, Thorin stood up and turned to face the inquisitive stares sent his way by the company (and one very confused wizard).

“You are not to press the issue of last night.  If Donnabelle wants to share that with you, it is _her_ choice.”  The dwarven leader left it at that, knowing that none of the dwarrow would disobey a direct order, even though he knew they were curious about what had happened. 

Donnabelle got to her feet and brushed off her clothes.  She chose to ignore the stares sent her way by the dwarves and focused more on the matter at hand.  “Is Beorn back yet, Gandalf?”

“I’m not sure.”

“In that case, first things first.  Is there anything to eat?”

Donnabelle found a few fruit and vegetables to share around – she stuck with just an apple until Beorn came in and provided the rest.  She ignored the gathering dwarves at the main door as she munched on her apple.  From outside, she heard the faint sound of someone chopping wood that hadn’t been present when she’d first woken up.  So Beorn was back then.

It was a little funny watching Gandalf fussing about the entrance.  Dwalin, it seemed, had the right idea.  “I’m not running from anyone, beast or no.”

Shrugging her shoulders, Donnabelle finished off her apple and then made her way to the dwarves.

Gandalf stepped in then, seemingly having decided what to do.  “There is no point in arguing.  We cannot pass through the Wilderland without Beorn’s help.  We’ll be hunted down before we even get to the forest.”  It seemed only then that the wizard spotted the hobbit joining the others.  “Ah, Donnabelle.  There you are.”  He moved to the door and paused, looking back at the dwarves.  “Now, this will require some delicate handling.  We must tread very carefully.  The last person to have startled him was torn to shreds.”

The young hobbit raised an eyebrow and moved through the door before anyone could stop her.  After Gandalf’s rant about how ‘safe’ Beorn actually was, all (save Thorin) were truly afraid for her.  Thorin admitted later that he was also afraid, but seemingly trusted the burglar’s instincts.

Donnabelle stepped forward and out into the open.  In between one of Beorn’s chops, she called out, “Good morning, Beorn.”

The giant man stopped his chopping and turned around, the axe head resting on the ground in front of him while he held the shaft.  He frowned as he took in the hobbit confidently standing in front of him, before he asked, “Bunny?”

“That’s me,” she returned with a small smile.  “Oh, and thanks for your hospitality last night.”

Beorn gave a slight nod, then asked, “How come you here?  You’re alone?”

“No, not alone.  I came with a wizard, Gandalf the Grey; and Frérin’s kin.  We’ve had a bad time recently, what with goblins and orcs in the mountains.”

“What you go near goblins for?  Stupid thing to do.”

“Oh, you’re telling me.  It wasn’t my choice.”

The eight-foot man smiled at the tone in which the hobbit had answered him.  It seemed that she still had her very dry wit that he’d gotten to know the last (and only) time the two of them had met.  He paused and tried placing the two names she had mentioned.  The first, Gandalf, meant nothing to him, but the second was a name he remembered from seventeen years before.  “Frérin?  He the dwarf I saw you with?”

“Yes,” Donnabelle answered honestly.  “I’m travelling with his brother, and twelve of his kin.”

Beorn sighed.  “They indoors?”  At the hobbit’s nod, the bear-like man moved to the small woman’s side.  “Right, little bunny.  Introduce me to these dwarves that you seem so fond of.”

When Donnabelle and Beorn entered the house by way of the back door, the dwarves and Gandalf seemed surprised that the giant bear-like man would readily agree to help them.  Donnabelle just shook her head, knowing the reason was her and her past with Frérin.  Thorin, once he picked up on that, agreed to rest in Beorn’s halls for three days before moving on.  He knew that they all needed to recuperate from their time in the mountains.

**THTHTHTH**

Later that same day, Donnabelle approached Fíli and Kíli with a small smile.  They reminded her so much of the brother she’d lost.  Fíli had the same hair colouring and a similar bearing to Frérin while Kíli had the dwarf’s humour and personality.  The two boys looked up from their game and frowned at the look getting sent their way by the hobbit.

“What?” Fíli asked.

“Perhaps you could help me…” she began and then stopped to look down at her feet.  “No,” she quietly told herself, “that’s a silly idea.”

Kíli frowned and repeated, “What?”

“Well, you see, I know that hair is important to dwarves.  I’m so reluctant to have short hair again, and I can’t seem to braid my own hair at the moment.  But I know that for dwarves, you only allow certain people to braid your hair.”  Donnabelle shifted around and began playing with the ends of her long locks.

“You want _us_ to braid your hair?” Fíli asked.

“If it’s not too much trouble.  I would’ve asked Frérin… or he’d have braided it for me already, but…  I know only close family can braid my hair for me, and Thorin hasn’t…”  She stopped, nervous that her request would be rejected.  “I thought, seeing as you’re like my family…”  When it looked as though the two young dwarves would refuse her, she turned away from them and lowered her head.  It shouldn’t have surprised her, really.  “If it’s too much hassle, then I’ll just have it the length I had it before…”  To prove her point, Donnabelle began to shorten the length of her hair to what she’d had it before she revealed herself as a female.

“No!  Wait!” both boys protested.  “Don’t do that.  We’ll braid it, imad.”

She turned back to them with a bright smile on her face.  “Thank you!  You can use these beads.”  In her hand were four beads and several clips to secure her hair up.  When Fíli and Kíli took a closer look at the beads Donnabelle had in her hand, they recognised at least two of them.  One was of a similar design to a bead that both Thorin and their mother wore.  The other bead they recognised was a bead that placed the hobbit under the protection of the house of Durin.

“Where did you get these?”

“Frérin gave them to me.”

Kíli exchanged a shocked look with Fíli and then decided that if their uncle had given Donnabelle the beads, then who were they to deny her the chance of wearing them?

“Come on then,” they relented.  And Kíli grinned.  “As long as you tell us about Uncle Frérin,” the younger dwarf added.

“Agreed,” the hobbit replied.  The three of them made their way to one of the shady trees near Beorn’s back door and sat down.  Donnabelle wasn’t surprised that the two dwarves sat either side and waited for her to begin her tales before they started braiding.  Smiling to herself, she began telling them what it was like for her the first few months being in the care of Frérin.  But she was only just beginning her tale when Dori approached the three of them and she fell silent.  The princes also remained silent, waiting to see what their hobbit would do.

Dori had Ori with him for support as the elder Ri brother shifted nervously in front of Donnabelle.  “I’m sorry for what I said last night,” the grey-haired dwarf said.

Donnabelle looked up at him from her position between Fíli and Kíli, and she was grateful to feel their skilled hands continuing their work tying back her hair.  It had always relaxed her when Frérin offered to redo her braids when she was growing up, and having his nephews doing the same thing for her now reminded her of happier times.  She pondered the apology for a long moment and then turned her gaze downward.  It wasn’t long before the boys finished her braids and she felt them release her locks.

“All done,” Fíli said quietly.

Donnabelle nodded and stood, refusing to look Dori in the eye.  Turning to Fíli and Kíli, she mouthed ‘thank you’ to them before she stalked off.  Dori, Ori, Fíli and Kíli watched her leave and then the dark-haired prince turned back to Dori.

“Doesn’t look like she forgives you yet.”

“I don’t blame her,” Dwalin growled out from behind Dori.  “She was very upset last night.”

“Why?” Ori asked.

“Trust, once broken, is not easily regained,” Balin put in.  “Donnabelle trusted all of us with her safety when she told us of her abilities.  Both her physical safety _and_ emotional safety.  You broke that trust last night when you reminded her of Frérin’s sacrifice.”  The sons of Fundin set their jaws and looked around the gathered dwarves.  Not all of the others were as accepting of Donnabelle and her abilities since she told them part of her history on the Carrock.  In fact, the only ones that truly seemed to accept her had been the two brothers, the two princes, perhaps Nori and Bofur, and Thorin.  The rest of the dwarves were at various stages of acceptance, with Dori being the least accepting of anything ‘unnatural’ happening in the company.  It spoke well of Donnabelle’s character that she didn’t hold it against the dwarves, who had only really learnt that there were changelings in the world and it would take them some time to process that.

Beorn, when he saw Donnabelle leave the dwarves, moved to the gathering and frowned.  “What did you say to my little bunny?”

Dori gulped as the giant man dwarfed him.  Ori, trying not to anger their host, answered the question.  “Dori mentioned that things were a little unnatural last night and that you were under some sort of spell.”

The bear-like man snarled.  He didn’t care about the comment the dwarf had made about his person; he was used to it and the attitudes dwarves had toward other races.  But to say that _he_ was unnatural in Donnabelle’s hearing was the worst offence he could imagine.  “And do you know what happened to the last people who called Donnabelle unnatural?  Or how she met me?”  When no dwarf was willing to answer his questions, Beorn answered his own questions himself.  “They tried to take her honour and were in the process of beating her after they had already killed her companion.  I heard what they called her, I saw what they were doing, and I tore them to shreds.”

The dwarves (and Gandalf, who happened to be listening close by), felt very berated and distressed when they took in how much the little hobbit had gone through and was still brave enough to join them on their quest.  And how much trust she had placed in them when she told them of her ‘gifting’.

“Teddy,” came a soft voice behind Beorn and nearly everyone turned to see Thorin and Donnabelle standing not far off.  “Dori did not mean to insult me.  He just reminded me of a memory I would rather forget.”

Beorn growled once again at Dori but acquiesced that the dwarf hadn’t known what his words would have on the hobbit.  Dori swallowed nervously and looked around the other dwarves.  From what the lass had said, she didn’t blame him for his words, but she didn’t forgive him either.  He received dark looks from the others.  But they all learnt something that day: be careful with what they say around their allies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bunmel" translates from Khuzdul to "beauty of all beauty". I used this as "Belle" means "Beauty" and Thorin was trying to think of an endearment that was close to Donnabelle's name in Westron.   
> "Imad" translates as "aunt"


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey through Mirkwood, and what the dwarves find there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **~Khuzdul~** = Dwarven spoken language  
>  Timeline: In the book, it takes the company about a month to make their way through Mirkwood, reaching the forest edge around the 13th of July, and then getting captured by the elves around the 8th of August.

Just before the company left Beorn’s house after their short three day rest there, Donnabelle pulled her giant friend aside and handed him a small metal case with instructions of delivering it to Elrond in Rivendell.  Beorn took the case off her and agreed if she promised that she would keep safe in return.  Of course, she told him she would at least try to.

It took them a half day’s journey to reach the forest edge.  Bofur looked over at Donnabelle just as they pulled their ponies to a halt.  “What did you give Beorn?” the hatted dwarf asked.  When the hobbit frowned, he clarified, “Just before we left.  You gave him something.”

“Nothing important,” Donnabelle returned, shrugging the question off.  “I gave him a promise.”

“A promise is important, Mistress Baggins,” Balin refuted.  “And not to be dismissed lightly.”

“Like the ones I know Beorn made you all take before we left his place?” she asked cheekily, but she also knew that _those_ promises the dwarves made to protect her were ones she felt grateful for.

“He really cares about you,” Thorin said, appearing by her side having already dismounted.

The hobbit looked down at the dwarf and gave him a small smile.  “I haven’t really had many people care about me,” she admitted as she allowed him to help her down from the pony.  Thorin returned her smile and watched as she went off to discuss something with Gandalf.

“Are you going to tell her?”

The king frowned and looked at his shield-brother.  Folding his arms across his broad chest, Thorin denied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  But he couldn’t help but find the lass again with his eyes.

“Don’t give me that.  We’ve all seen the looks you’ve sent Donnabelle.  Are you going to tell her?”

Thorin pulled his eyes away from the hobbit and took a long moment to really think about what Dwalin was saying.  Had they really seen the longing looks he sent toward the hobbit?  He also remembered what the warrior had seen the night they’d first taken shelter in Beorn’s house.  “I have nothing to offer her,” the raven-haired king finally admitted.

Bifur spoke up then, from the other side of Thorin.  **~I wonder why Prince Frérin called her sister then.~**

Thorin turned to the dwarf that had the axe in his head and dryly pointed out, “Perhaps for the same reasons you lot call her namadith.”

Bifur snorted but nodded.  **~Perhaps.  Point is, from what I know of the lass, she doesn’t want gold or jewels.  Most women from other races just want to feel wanted, protected.  Loved.~**

 **~Which, by the looks we’ve seen you send her way, Uncle, you can offer those to her,~** Kíli put in, and then ducked out of Thorin’s reach.

The dwarf king scowled darkly.  “Keep your ruddy big noses out of my love life,” he snarled.  Most of the dwarves scattered when Thorin growled at them.  He was still glaring when Gandalf’s voice shook him from his dour mood.

“Not my horse!” the wizard called as Fíli and Ori were about to send the ponies and horseback to Beorn.  “I need it.”

“You’re not leaving us?” Donnabelle asked.

“I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to,” Gandalf returned and moved off toward the horse Ori was holding onto.

Donnabelle followed after wizard before she stopped.  She was debating whether she should tell the wizard of the ring she found in the goblin tunnels but decided it wasn’t worth it.  After all, she’d already given the trinket to Beorn to take to Rivendell.  Gandalf paused, just before he mounted, and gave the company one final warning.  “Don’t touch the waters, and stay on the path!”

Then the wizard was off.  The younger dwarves and the hobbit looked forlornly in the direction that Gandalf had gone in before Thorin led the way into the forest of Mirkwood.

**THTHTHTH**

It was far too easy to lose track of the passing days and weeks within Mirkwood.  Donnabelle did her best, as did Ori, to keep track of how long they spent under the oppressive weight of the dark forest.  There were times when it got too much for the young hobbit lass, and she tried her best to keep her fears from the dwarves, and especially from Thorin, Balin, Dwalin and Óin.

But she wasn’t as successful at hiding as she thought when perhaps ten days into their journey through the forest Thorin sank to her side as the rest of the company set up camp.  They were at the edge of the camp.  The dwarf king was silent for a moment before he looked down at the little hobbit lass.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Talk about what?” she returned, sniffing.  “I’m fine.”

“We’ve all seen that you’re not, Belle,” Thorin refuted.  He looked down at his hands in his lap.  He desperately wanted to wrap them around her but thought that this time, she needed more than physical comforting.

Donnabelle refused to look up at the dwarf king as she ran her nose over her sleeve.  “Why you?” she asked.

“Because,” he told her quietly, throwing caution to the wind as he wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, “of Frérin.”  He paused and looked over the company, allowing his fingers to run over her shoulder.  Most (if not all) of the company were choosing to ignore the pair of them as they dished out small portions of nuts and dried fruit for dinner.  His reasoning wasn’t the whole reason, but the best he could come up with that was believable.  “Do you want to talk, Bunmel?”

Donnabelle sniffed again and shifted closer to Thorin’s side.  “Why are you calling me that?  I’m not beautiful.  I’m a nobody…  Not even brave.”

Thorin rubbed her arm one more time before he shifted it to her waist.  Oh, how he wished he could change Donnabelle’s view of herself.  “I was wrong about you,” he told her.  “When we met.  I called you a grocer, not a burglar.  I didn’t want to like you.  In fact, I was set to hate you.  But…” he paused again and surveyed the campsite once more.  “You proved me wrong.  You proved all of us wrong.  You’ve got more backbone than I gave you credit for.”  For some reason, Thorin couldn’t help smile to himself as he thought about all the times that his hobbit had proved to him that her last statements were most definitely _wrong._   And, it seemed, it was his job to prove that to her.

“It was you,” he began, “that stalled for time with the trolls.  You defended us to elves and got safe passage for us with Beorn.  You managed to make your way _alone_ through the goblin tunnels and stood up to Azog while defending me.  You managed to face Dori after he caused you to face one of your worst memories.  You’ve managed to steal the hearts and loyalties of the company without even trying.  That doesn’t make you a nobody.  And…” here he paused and cleared his throat.  He couldn’t help himself but tighten his hold on her.  “I’m sure you’ve been in this forest before, and something scares you so much about being back in here.  If you’re still with us, despite that, then you’re far braver than I.”

Donnabelle wiped her nose again and turned to look up at Thorin.  He wasn’t looking down at her, but he could feel her gaze on him.  “What do you mean?” she asked softly.  “You’re brave.”

He laughed mirthlessly and let it fade quickly.  “No.  Not when it comes to…” he trailed.  _You,_ his mind finished.

The hobbit turned to look toward the other dwarves as she rested her head against his shoulder.  “There can be no true courage without a healthy dose of fear.  You can never know your strength until you’ve face your worse fear.”

The corners of Thorin’s lips tugged upwards.  “That’s something Adad told Frérin and me when we were just dwarflings.”

Donnabelle felt a small smile grace her face as well before it fell.  “Frérin told me that when we came through here.  Before we were running from giant spiders.  There are foul things living in these woods, Thorin.  More than spiders; and elves.”  She took in a deep breath and buried her face in his shoulder.

He pulled her closer to his side and wrapped his cloak around the both of them.  “Stay close to me,” he whispered against her hair.  “I’ll protect you.  If I’m not there, I’ll send Dwalin.”

He felt her nod against his shoulder and then felt her hand come up and rest over the middle of his chest, right over his heart.  Her right hand had snaked across her stomach to thread under his hand that rested there.  A sigh of contentment left him as he covered her left hand with his right.

On the other side of the camp, Balin nudged his brother and pointed in the direction of Thorin and Donnabelle.  Dwalin smirked at the sight, knowing that _this_ time Thorin was not going to get out of his obligations so easily.  It wasn’t surprising to the brothers to see Ori had his sketchpad out, drawing the pair, either.

**THTHTHTH**

The following morning, the company were not surprised to find Thorin and Donnabelle still wrapped in each other’s arms.  They had moved from their sitting position to lie together on Thorin’s bedroll.  Donnabelle was using one of Thorin’s arms as a pillow, and his other arm as a ‘blanket’; Thorin himself had threaded his left arm under her head and had slung his right across her waist and rested his hand on her chest while she hugged the arm close.  Both looked contented, and in Thorin’s case, years younger.

Each of the dwarves glanced in their leader’s direction and snickered slightly to themselves.  But they knew that they wouldn’t ever tease Thorin for allowing their burglar to use him as a bed.  In fact, they all knew Thorin and Donnabelle’s current positions reflected the feelings each harboured for the other, yet neither had spoken of them.

Thorin was the first to wake of the pair and did not seem to be aware of the audience he had as he became aware of the lovely little hobbit sleeping in his arms once more.  It was only when he heard Kíli snicker that his attention was drawn to the company.  His expression darkened as it dawned on him that the company knew _exactly_ what his current position meant and he growled out, “Not one word!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nori whispered to Bofur.  Bofur grinned.  And then Nori was rubbing his shoulder (the shoulder that happened to be closest to Thorin and Donnabelle).  “Ow!” he said, looking around for what hit him.  It hadn’t really hurt, just caused enough of a sting for him to feel it.

Ori snorted.  He’d seen what had hit his brother, yet not who had thrown the small pebble.  Nori narrowed his eyes at his younger brother.

“Sweet Eru, you’re not got to fight in this place, are you?” Donnabelle asked.  “It’s oppressive enough without you adding to it.”  Both brothers looked chastised at the hobbit’s words, knowing that she spoke the truth.  She pulled out of Thorin’s arms as if nothing had happened and moved to gather her things together.  The dwarves watched her work before she set her jaw and looked up from her knapsack.  “Personally, I’d rather have some food and then get moving.  The sooner we’re out of this forsaken forest, the better.”  The dwarves quickly scrambled for their own breakfast of nuts and honey cakes.  It wasn’t long before the company ate their rationed breakfast and began setting out.

Donnabelle smiled slightly at Thorin when he stopped to look at her.  Reaching out her hand, she snagged their thief’s arm, right over where she’d hit him earlier with a pebble.

“Next time you make a snide comment about my relationship, Nori, I’ll hit you somewhere else,” the hobbit threatened quietly.  “Somewhere a little more… painful.”  The starfish-haired dwarf winced, nodded and was relieved when Donnabelle let him go.  The chastised dwarf made a quick getaway.  Thorin raised an eyebrow at the wee lass and had to cover his mouth with a hand, just so his grin was hidden.  Donnabelle looked back at the dark-haired king with her own raised eyebrow and she began to move after the other dwarves.

Fíli and Kíli watched the exchange between their uncle and honouree aunt and looked at each other.  Kíli leaned over to his brother and whispered, “She managed to get Uncle to grin.  And she told Nori off!”

“And she can tell you two off as well if you don’t keep up!” Donnabelle called back.

**THTHTHTH**

A week after Thorin and Donnabelle had sort comfort from each other they came across the enchanted waters Gandalf had warned them about.  They managed to cross the swiftly flowing river well enough until Bombur fell in.  The dwarves cursed their luck that the heaviest of the dwarves managed to put himself to sleep and make the others carry him.

Not one of them looked forward to the prospect of carrying the rotund dwarf, yet they knew that it was a slight blessing when they knew their supplies were running low.  Thorin looked around at the company, wondering how much longer they were to be stuck in the forest, with what seemed to be no way out.  Donnabelle agreed, if only in her mind.  So it was with great reluctance that she followed the dwarves _away_ from the path.

It was to no surprise to the hobbit that within five days after leaving the path they were out of food, her dwarves were captured and strung up by the giant spiders living within the forest canopy.  Donnabelle wished that she had not been so reluctant to hold onto the ring.  If only she still had it, she would have had the ability to become invisible.  But she could not go back on her decision, not when Beorn would be near Rivendell by now.  Instead, all she had to free her dwarves was her ability to change her appearance and her letter opener.

Somehow, although she was deathly afraid of being alone in the cursed forest, Donnabelle managed to avoid capture by the spiders.  Perhaps it was because of the innate ability that all hobbits had when it came to the earth and to nature.  She was no different, despite her rather unusual upbringing.  But later, the hobbit would say it was because she remembered the stories that Beorn had told her of the shepherds of the forest; and she recalled reading about the Ents while in Rivendell.  And it was fortunate that she kept her wits about her when she followed one spider back to their nest.

Once she found the nest, and where her dwarves were strung, Donnabelle had to think quickly about how to distract the spiders so she could find a way of releasing Thorin and the others.  Picking up a stick, she threw it well away from the nest.  Most of the spiders turned and flew after the sound the stick made, leaving just one spider lurking around who Donnabelle guessed to be Bombur.  She drew out her elvish blade and started whacking at the legs and jaw of the spider that had been poking at Bombur.

“It stings!  It stings!”

Donnabelle gave one final blow to the spider and held in her grimace.  No matter how much she learnt how to use a sword, she still hated fighting.  Not even Frérin could get her to grow out of that, no matter how much he tried.  She watched the body of the dead arachnid fall to the forest floor before she set her goal on freeing her dwarves.  When the last dwarf was cut down, Donnabelle looked over the edge of the branch she was on to watch them claw their way out of the web they were entangled in.

It took them a while to get their bearings before she heard Dwalin demanding, “Where’s the hobbit?”

“Up here!” she called out.

“Up where?” Nori returned, trying to see where their burglar was in the trees.  Other dwarves were also searching the branches for any sight of the lass when they were attacked once again by the spiders.  That took their attention off their hobbit as they fought to escape from the webs and dwarf eating spiders.  They were too busy fighting (and moving further from the nest to escape) to see Donnabelle fall, or to see her surrounded by elves.

And though they fought hard to escape the spiders, they were not at their full strength and so made their capture by the Woodland Elves all the easier.  It wasn’t until they were being led within the halls of Thranduil that Bofur quietly asked where their burglar was.  Thorin felt his heart almost stop when he looked back out at the forest one last time; if Donnabelle wasn’t amongst the captured company, then she was still out in the forest alone.  A forest, the dwarf king knew, she was right to be afraid of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bunmel" is Khuzdul for "beauty of all beauty"  
> "Namadith" is Khuzdul for "little sister"  
> (Thanks to Dwarrow Scholar, Nikolai and Calenithlon )


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elvish prison and escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **~Khuzdul~**   
>  _/Elvish/_
> 
> Timeline: In the book, the company is captured by elves on the 8th of August, and escape from the dungeons around the 20th of September and head down the river in barrels toward Lake-town. In my story, they escape around the 10th of September.
> 
> Khuzdul translations at the end.

All thirteen dwarves were worried.  Not for themselves – although they knew their situation could be better – but for the lost member of their company.  Dwalin was swearing in Khuzdul that he’d get the pointy-eared tree-shaggers if anything harmful happened to his ‘little sister’.  The warrior meant it as well; Donnabelle had become his ‘little sister’ over the course of their journey, as she had for nearly all of the company.

“Dwalin!” Thorin’s growl came from the cell next to the warrior’s.  “Save your strength.”

The burly dwarf stopped banging against the cell door just as an elf guard came to them with a set of keys.  “Which one of you is Balin?”

Balin, in the cell the other side of Thorin, approached the gate to his cell.  “That would be me.”

The elf seemed to relax a little at the white-haired dwarf’s reply and began unlocking the cell.  “I’ve been commanded to collect you and a dwarf named Óin.”  The stout advisor frowned.  What possible reasons did the elves have to call him and Óin?  Unless… no.  He didn’t want to think of Donnabelle being held captive by the elves.

The snowy-haired dwarf caught Thorin’s eye as he was shoved passed the dwarf leader’s cell.  Thorin only needed to nod once to convey all he needed to to Balin.  _‘Find out what they want.  Stay safe.  If you can find her, protect her.’_

Balin returned the nod and caught his brother’s gaze.  Though Dwalin was the warrior of the two, Balin also knew how to fight just as well as his brother; and they both knew it.  **~Protect our sister, Balin,~** the tall dwarf grunted in Khuzdul.  A nod was all that the warrior needed in response, though neither really knew where the elves were taking Balin.

Óin was released from his cell by another elf, and the two dwarves were led up three levels above the prison area.  Before the two dwarves reached the small room, both could hear a few coarse words in Khuzdul being thrown at whoever was on the other side of the door.

“Get that fiend calmed down so we can get our healers to look him over,” their guide said and opened the door.  The elf in the room ducked the thrown missile sent his way by the other occupant of the room.  Balin entered first, followed closely by Óin.  They both surveyed the room before their attention was drawn by the small hobbit.  They both frowned slightly when they recognised her male disguise.

“Bilbo,” Balin called out.  Donnabelle looked toward the door and smiled when she recognised both dwarves standing there.

“Balin, Óin!”  A wide smile split across Donnabelle’s face.  The elves outside the room peered in, surprised that the hobbit had stopped yelling curses at them.  “Are the others here?”

“Yes.  They’ll be relieved to know you’re alive and in one piece.”

“Even his gruffness?”  The hobbit meant it in jest, but the two dwarves could hear her worry.  They glanced at each other, understanding passed been them; their burglar definitely harboured strong feelings for their king just like Thorin had for her.

“He’s been unbearable.”  Balin took his eyes off Donnabelle for a moment and glowered at the elf that was making their way to where the hobbit was.  Donnabelle’s eyes also narrowed as she also focused on the elf invading her personal space.

 _/Back off!  Or I’ll bite you,/_ Donnabelle hissed in Sindarin.

“Bilbo,” Óin calmly said. 

The hobbit turned to the healer and crossed her arms.  “Tell them to leave me alone then!” she shot back with a pout.  “They refused to tell me anything, so I refuse to let them near me.”  The two dwarves took a closer look at the hobbit, and could just make out her fluctuating eye colour and the slight change in her nose shape.  Óin looked toward his cousin and gave a small nod.  They both knew what that meant for Donnabelle: she was either extremely unsettled emotionally (her features usually changed when she was very upset or angry at something), or she was suffering physically.

 **~We’re okay.  We’re all here,~** the elder dwarf soothed in Khuzdul as he took another step closer to Donnabelle.  **~And we’d feel much better if you allow Óin to check you over.~** She nodded slightly and kept her head down.  Óin glared at the elf that was still in the room with them.  The elf, sensing the hostility coming from the dwarves and hobbit, left the room and shut the door behind him.  **~It’s okay, Bilbo,~** Balin continued.  **~The elf is gone.~**

“Thank Mahal!” Donnabelle breathed quietly and morphed into the woman both dwarves had grown to love.  Her face was gaunt and her eyes were haunted by the weeks spent alone worrying about her dwarves.  “I’ve been trying to get one of you up here for the last three weeks.”

“We’ve been here three weeks?” Balin asked.

“Closer to four.  They didn’t tell me you were here at first.”  She gave the two dwarves a shaky smile and allowed Óin to begin his examination.  “I lost you after you lot started fighting the spiders.”  Donnabelle raised a hand to stop Balin’s protest that they didn’t know what happened to _her._   “Not your fault, Balin, or anybody’s.  I did the only thing I could think of if you were captured, and then the elves found me.  I didn’t think they’d throw me in this room and post a guard outside my door.”

“How did you find out we were here?”

“Overheard the guards talking three weeks ago.  Knew the only dwarves in the area would be you, and I asked them nicely to take me down to visit my brothers.  They refused the tree-shaggers.  That’s when I started yelling at them when they came by with my meals, demanding that at least you and Óin come to me if I couldn’t go to you.  They learnt not to get too close either; else they ended up with more than a bruised ego.”

“Do you know they call you a fiend?”

“Really?  Can’t they come up with anything original?”  But Balin thought he heard a touch of pain at Donnabelle’s nonchalant response.  The hobbit looked at Óin as the healer prodded her shoulder.  “It’s mainly healed.  The bruise from the tunnels has faded so much that you can barely see it now.”

“That’s good.  Do you hurt anywhere else?”

“No.  Wasn’t hurt in the forest.  Was just worried about you.”

“We were beside ourselves too, namadith.”

Donnabelle nodded and looked up at Balin.  “Tell the others I’m okay and I’m looking forward to getting us all out of here.”

“How will you manage that if you’re locked in here?”

“Had to learn something from Nori.”  She smirked as she pulled out a small key.  “I nicked this off one of the guards.  And I happened to have cornered the princeling when I was out exploring two weeks ago.”

“Cornered… who now?”

“The elvish princeling.  Told him I wouldn’t say a thing about what I saw if he helped me.”  Balin frowned at the slightly sassy smile that graced Bilbo’s face and he shared a confused look with Óin.  Both dwarves were wondering exactly what their burglar had seen, and how that could get an elf, an elf _princeling_ no less, to help them.

**THTHTHTH**

Balin and Óin returned to their cells lighter than they had felt in weeks.  Dwalin and Thorin looked up from their cells and waited until the elves left before they started asking questions.

“Bilbo’s alive, and he’s in one piece,” Balin said, letting the others know that their burglar was using his male disguise.

“Is Bilbo okay?” Dwalin asked.

“No.  He’s stressed.  But knowing we’re all here and alive will go a long way to help with that.  Perhaps he’ll be able to gain weight now.”

“How long has… he been here?” Thorin asked, really struggling to go back to using the male pronoun when he knew their hobbit was a woman.

“Four weeks,” Balin’s reply came.

The exiled king closed his eyes.  “Did… bunmel tell you the date?”

“It’s been two months since the Carrock,” the adviser returned.  “Namadith said it’s early September now.  He wasn’t sure of the exact date.  But he did tell us to be ready, and to eat.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dwalin felt himself grinning slightly.  “That sneaky little akdâmuthrab’s got something up his sleeve.”

“That he does, brother.  Our zantulbasn is quite resourceful when he puts his mind to it.”

**THTHTHTH**

Thorin was taken before the elven king four days after Balin and Óin saw Donnabelle.  In the throne room of the Woodland realm, the blond elven king looked down upon the dwarven leader he’d had brought before him.

“Some say a noble quest is at hand.  That the dwarves of Erebor are out to reclaim their homeland, and slay a dragon.  I myself suspect a more prosaic motive: attempted burglary, of something of that ilk.”  Thranduil frowned as he studied the exiled king closely.  “You’ve found a way in.  You seek that which would bestow on you the right to rule: the King’s jewel.”  The elf lord stood up and strode down the staircase that led to the main audience area, putting him on the same level as Thorin Oakenshield.

The dwarf met the elf’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.

“There are gems inside that mountain that I too desire,” Thranduil continued, ignoring the stony stare that was directed at him by Thorin.  “White gems of pure starlight.  I offer you my help.”

“I am listening,” Thorin spoke quietly, curious to see where the conversation would lead.

“I will let you go, if you but return what is mine.”

Thorin tilted his head to one side and turned his back on the elf.  He began walking away.  “A favour for a favour.”

“You have my word.  From one king to another.”

The dwarven king turned on his heel and looked back at Thranduil.  “I would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to honour his word even if the end of all days was upon us!  I have seen how you, who lack all honour, treat your friends.  We came to you once, and you turned us away.  You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!”

Thranduil raised one perfect eyebrow.  He knew he could yell all he wanted at the stubborn dwarf, yet he wanted to know exactly who exactly the hobbit was in his guest chambers.  “And what of the halfling locked within my guest chambers?  Do you care nothing for his fate?”  Thorin tried to keep his face at an impasse, yet he couldn’t stop a muscle from jumping in his jaw.  “Ah, so you do care about what happens to him.  He put up quite the resistance, yet my guards had him crying like a babe this morning at the thought of facing the dragon alone within the silent halls of your forebears.”

Thorin couldn’t think, didn’t _want_ to think, about Donnabelle facing Smaug.  Thranduil smirked, seeing the conflicting emotions flickering across the dwarf’s face.  “Tell me,” Thranduil said, “what does that halfling truly mean to you and your company?”

“What’s it to you?” Thorin growled, offended on behalf of _his_ hobbit that the elfish bastard was calling her a halfling.

“I offer you my word.  No harm will befall him, if only you return what is rightfully mine.”

The dwarf king set his jaw.  There was no way he would believe, or trust, the elven king if the blond had just spoken two contradictory statements.  “From your own mouth, your words betray you.”

“Stay here, then.  Rot, for all I care.  A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf.”

**THTHTHTH**

Thorin was thrown back into his cell.  Balin looked up as he heard the clanging of the metal bars swinging closed. 

The white-haired dwarf waited for the guards to disappear back up to their general posts before he asked, “Did he offer you a deal?”

“He did.  I told him that he could go ‘Ish kakhfê ai’d dur rugnu!’  Him and all his kin!”

Balin groaned and shook his head.  He wanted to ask Thorin why, but propriety that stopped him.  “Well, that’s it then.  You had to go and say that.”

“What did you expect Thorin to say after that pointy-eared bastard threatened me?” Donnabelle responded quietly from outside Thorin’s cell.  “Sorry, princeling.  Actually no, I’m not sorry.”

Thorin whipped his head around and stared at the small (male looking) hobbit standing outside his cell.  And then at the blond elf that stood beside her.  “Princeling?”

“This is Legolas, son of Thranduil,” Donnabelle answered.  “Now, all of you, let’s get out of here.  The princeling’s agreed to help _me_ get you out as long as I promise to give him part of my share, and I don’t mention…” she trailed.

“Your share of what?” Dwalin asked as he glared at the blond elf.  “And mention what?”

Donnabelle rolled her eyes just as Balin was released.  “Sometimes I really wonder about you lot.  I’ll tell you later.”

 _/You promised not to mention that!/_ Legolas whispered quietly as he moved to Thorin’s cell.

 _/I promised not to mention it to your father.  I said nothing about keeping it from my dwarves,/_ Donnabelle shot back sweetly.

 _/Please don’t,/_ Legolas pleaded.

Thorin was immediately at Donnabelle’s side the moment he was released.  He cupped her cheek in his calloused hand and ran his gaze over her just to make sure she was okay.  “You’ll have to tell me what that was about,” he said as he drew her into his side.  He felt her bury her nose in his chest and nod slightly against him.  Just before she pulled away, she was sure she felt him brush his lips over her forehead.  And she found it comforting that he didn’t truly release her either: he snagged her hand with his and entwined their fingers against his thigh.

“We should go before Ada finds out what I have done,” Legolas directed his statement to the hobbit after he released the final dwarf from their cell.  Donnabelle looked up from Thorin’s side and nodded.  With that single nod, the elf prince led the fourteen (thirteen dwarves and a hobbit in her male disguise) company members to the outer edges of the Woodland realm, and to the Forest River.  Legolas stopped at the edge of his father’s realm and knelt down at Donnabelle’s level.  Thorin growled at the prince from his position at Donnabelle’s side.  Neither really realised their hands were still tightly entwined.

“Follow this river until you get to the lake shore.  From there, you can find your own way to the mountain.”

“Thank you.  If you hear we have been successful, find us and I will make sure you get what was promised.  But we will only deal with _you_ and the lady captain.  Do not expect anything if your father shows up demanding payment.  Except embarrassment, shame and possibly exile.”

“Understood,” the prince replied.  “We wish we could do more, but I fear I have brought enough of my father’s wrath upon me.  You must hurry before he sends a search party.”

Donnabelle gave the elvish prince one final tight smile.  She released Thorin’s hand, turned back to the dwarves and began leading them down the path of the river.  The dwarves frowned at the threat their burglar issued, yet knew better than to question it.  They followed their hobbit in silence for about a mile before she stopped and took note of her surroundings.  The smile on her face did not seem to bode well for the dwarves until they watched her duck under some shrubbery that littered the hillside next to their pathway.  It was only a few minutes later that she came into view again, looking like the female hobbit they had come to love.  Across her back was slung a knapsack and she was buckling Sting to her ‘borrowed’ belt.

She looked up at the gobsmacked looks the dwarves were sending her.  “What?  I organised with the pointy-eared blond to get most of our weapons to be stashed here.”  Donnabelle pointed behind her at the hidden hollow.  “There’s also food in the knapsacks.”

“What type of food?”

“Mainly nuts and dried fruits.  It will be enough to last us two weeks if we’re careful.  And we’ll be able to hunt and get meat.”

“Oh, Mahal!” Bofur breathed dreamily, as Bombur rushed into the hollow to find his gear.  With that, the rest of the dwarves went into the hollow and claimed what was theirs, as well as a pack.

Thorin wasn’t in the mad rush to claim his weapons, knowing that Dwalin would retrieve them for him.  Instead, he found his attention drawn to the hobbit and felt a surge of pride within him.  Dwalin handed him Bloodlust and his small axe.  Nodding at his shield brother, Thorin strapped both weapons around his waist before he found himself looking at the lass once more.

 **~Talk to her,~** Dwalin grunted, nudging the dwarf king in Donnabelle’s direction.

**~If I do, will you shut up about it?~**

**~All of us would welcome her as our queen.~** Thorin looked up at Dwalin.  The bald warrior returned the stare and shrugged.  **~Just saying.~**

Thorin huffed and whispered to himself, “You and me both.”  The king didn’t notice his friend smile to himself as he walked off.

 _Finally,_ Dwalin thought.  He looked down as his brother joined him.  “He’s admitted he wants her,” the younger brother said quietly.

Balin snorted.  “Wonder how long it’ll take him to tell _her_ that.”

“By Durin, I hope it’s soon.”  The two brothers gave each other a nod and began to head down the river again.  When the other dwarves realised they were on the move again, they fell into line behind the sons of Fundin, leaving Thorin and Donnabelle to bring up the rear.

Thorin caught Fíli’s eye as the dwarves filed passed, and gave his eldest nephew a nod before he returned his attention to the hobbit.

“You negotiated with the elves for things that didn’t rightfully belong to them?” he asked, trying to keep his voice quiet and level.

“No,” she returned hotly, but just as quietly.  “I negotiated with the princeling.  You heard me tell him that if his father gets involved, and demands things that were _not_ in my agreement with the prince, then I embarrass him _and_ his father in the most public way I can.”

Thorin frowned.  “You’re able to do that?”

“Oh please.  The skills I learnt as a slave?  Dead useful for getting blackmail material.”

The dwarf snorted slightly.  “Do I want to know what you learnt as a slave?”

She shook her head.  “Maybe not.  Not all of it was pleasant.”  Looking up at the dwarf king, Donnabelle gave him a small smile.  “We should probably…”

Thorin nodded and watched the hobbit move off after the other dwarves before he, too, followed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> “namadith” translates as ‘little sister’  
> “bunmel” translates as ‘beauty of all beauty’  
> “akdâmuthrab” translates as ‘burglar’  
> “zantulbasn” translates as ‘hobbit’  
> “Ish kakhfê ai’d dur rugnu” translates roughly as ‘I wipe my excrement on the faces of the naked jawed ones’.
> 
> (As way of the Dwarrow Scholar and a writer named Calenithlon)


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Journey to Lake-town and the meeting of Bard the Bowman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Nikolai and Calenithlon for the actual translations from Khuzdul and Sindarin to English (or vice versa). My Khuzdul would not be as good without them!
> 
>  **~Khuzdul~** is the dwarven spoken language

Thorin was quite that first day out from the Woodland Realm, and the second.  His eyes were drawn again and again in the direction of the hobbit, yet he did nothing about his desires.  And, to the other dwarves, it seemed that Donnabelle was avoiding the dwarven king.

Fíli and Kíli cornered Balin and Dwalin with their pleading eyes.  “We’ve got to do something!  We can’t live like this.  We can all see they love each other.”

“There’s nothing we can do, laddie,” Balin softly said.  “Thorin’s repeatedly told us to back off.  And until one of them makes the first move, we can’t interfere.”

“But what if neither of them knows how the other feels?” Kíli asked.  “What if they’re afraid?”

“As much as we want to see them together,” Dwalin responded, “it is not up to us.”

Their conversation was interrupted when Bofur asked, “Where’s Thorin?”

That got all of the dwarves looking around the campsite until Bifur spoke up with a snort.   **~I think the better question would be: Where’s Thorin and Donnabelle _?_ ~**  The toymaker had a soft smile on his face.  He’d seen Thorin withdraw as they’d made camp that night.  And he had encouraged Donnabelle to follow after she’d partaken of her meagre supper.  Dwalin was about to head out to search for the king when the toymaker spoke up again.  **~They won’t have gone far tonight.  And would you really want to listen to their conversation?  Or have you forgotten who Donnabelle’s brother was?~**  

Realisation dawned on the company: Donnabelle, though she looked like a hobbit, was raised by a dwarf.  So naturally, she would have known about Thorin’s proposition in Mirkwood.  (And the one at Beorn’s house, Dwalin and Balin added in their heads.)

“How do you know what their conversation will be about?” Bombur asked. 

Bifur raised an eyebrow at his cousin.  **~I talked to Donnabelle about it last night.  Told her if she didn’t start the conversation, it would never happen.~** Turning back to the toy he was working on, Bifur allowed the laughter of the rest of the camp drift over him.

**THTHTHTH**

Thorin slipped away from the company after he told them to break camp and sent out Fíli and Kíli to hunt.  He didn’t think he’d be missed, and he didn’t want to face the questioning glances sent his way by most of the company.  Especially the looks he’d get sent by the sons of Fundin.  Both of them had picked up on his hesitation to speak with their burglar, and he assumed they knew the real reason why.

He ran a hand over his face.  How was he to explain to Donnabelle the customs of the dwarves when it came to courting?  Or the fact that the two of them were basically ‘married’ in the eyes of the dwarves because he hadn’t really thought things through when he’d comforted her in Beorn’s house and then spoke for her the following morning.  And ‘married’ again, when he’d approached her in the middle of Mirkwood and spread his cloak over the both of them.  That didn’t even take into consideration the _first_ time he’d offered the hobbit his warmth just to get her to stop shivering.  Yet there was a loophole in situations Thorin now found himself: the longer one left things unacknowledged, the more unlikely the ‘marriage’ was ‘real’.  The other way dwarves had of getting out of their obligations was if they stated that their offer of comfort had been a mistake or a one-time thing.  Because if every dwarf was considered ‘married’ each time they sort comfort from someone outside their immediate family then things could get very ugly very quickly.  That was why most dwarves did not seek comfort (other than physical _need_ ) from outside their immediate family clans.  In Thorin’s case, he knew it hadn’t been a mistake on his part: he truly had wanted to comfort the lass.  And had willingly done so on three separate occasions.

The question was, though, did he actually want to deny what he truly felt for the hobbit any longer?

His head snapped up as he heard a twig crack.  He felt for his sword and looked around the immediate area.

“It’s me,” Donnabelle called just as she came into view.  “Thorin, we need to talk.”  He pursed his lips and nodded.  He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.  The hobbit raised an eyebrow.  “You’re acting like I might bite or something.”

“No.  I just know this conversation’s been a long time coming.”

“Oh?” she asked.  “And why’s that?”  When the dark-haired dwarf didn’t answer, and turned his attention away from the hobbit, she knew that he’d been dreading confronting the oliphant in the room.  She shook her head and moved to sit beside the man.  “Is it because of what happened at Beorn’s house?  And the night we spent in each other’s arms in Mirkwood?”

Thorin frowned and looked down at the blue-grey eyes of the lass beside him.  Did she know exactly what those two nights (he didn’t count the first night he offered to keep her warm) meant in dwarven culture?  The right corner of her mouth curved up slightly as she caught his deep blue gaze.  She reached up with her fingers to his face but paused before she actually touched his face.  He curiously tilted his head, bringing his face and braids closer to her and then felt her tug lightly at his braid that held Frérin’s bead.  Oh.  _Oh…_ he closed his eyes.  “Frérin told you?”

“Yes.  Were you going to say anything?”  Donnabelle watched as he turned his face away from hers and knew that he either wasn’t going to or hadn’t found the courage yet.  She released his braid and cupped his cheek, pulling his face back toward hers.  “Thorin, do you think I didn’t know what I was doing, that first night in the mountains?  Or the night I came to you at Beorn’s?  I should have said something, that night in Mirkwood, but I didn’t.  I don’t think either of us were ready for what it would mean if I had.”  Thorin reached up and covered her hand with his, but still didn’t say anything.  Donnabelle bit her lower lip as she felt him press her hand closer to his cheek.  “Thorin, look at me please.”  She waited until he did.  And then, she tried to show him all of the love she had for him but couldn’t voice quite yet.  “What happens next depends on your answer.  I need to know.  Have you met your one?”  Her voice trembled slightly and she hoped that he picked up her true meaning behind the question: _‘Am I your one?’_

A small shy smile graced his features as he nodded slowly, his eyes speaking volumes.  _‘Yes, I have, and yes, you are.’_   Slowly, she returned his smile.  And before she could lose her nerve, she closed the distance between them and pressed her lips against his.  She pulled back and blushed, pulling her hand from his grip.

“Agyâdê,” Thorin breathed, awed.  He cupped her cheek as he allowed his lips to seek hers again.  His left hand snaked its way around her waist and brought her closer to him.  The kiss was clumsy, but neither cared.  Both were too intent on enjoying _their_ kiss.  And all too soon, it was over.  Both were breathing heavily as he rested his forehead on hers, a bright smile lit up his face.  “Amrâlimê.”

Donnabelle reached for the necklace she wore and pulled out the two beads that were strung on it.  Thorin looked at the two beads and traced the designs.  He could see his brother’s handiwork in them, yet also the unique touch of the hobbit in front of him.  She smiled shyly up at the dwarf as he studied the beads in her hand and her fingers joined his as they traced first one (a tanzanite gem inscribed with the dwarfish runes of love and hope on it): “This one I made for my intended, for when we agreed to court exclusively,” she explained softly; and then traced the other bead (made from some petrified tree sap with the rune for ‘forever’ on it): “And this one was for our marriage day.”  The hobbit swallowed nervously and closed her hand around the beads.

“They’re beautiful,” Thorin whispered, wanting to have a look at them again.  Instead, he turned to focus his attention on her.

“Frérin helped me shape them, but I finished engraving the runes on them in Rivendell.”  Donnabelle bit her lip as she worked up the courage to ask: “May I braid them into your hair?”

“Please,” Thorin agreed readily, with a soft awed smile on his face.  She’d finished them in Rivendell, even before he first offered her comfort in the Misty Mountains?  He swallowed and covered her hand that held the beads she’d made for him.  “I don’t have any courting beads with me, but I, too, would like to braid your hair.”

Donnabelle’s smile grew as she nodded.  “Of course, kurdula.”

Thorin blinked several times as he let her endearment wash over him.  “Say that again,” he asked shakily.  She repeated the endearment and placed her hand over his heart.  If possible, his smile grew brighter, and he leaned in to kiss her once more.

Neither made it back to the main camp that night.

**THTHTHTH**

The following morning, Thorin and Donnabelle strode into the camp hand in hand, shy smiles on their faces and the occasion glance in the other’s direction.  Almost all of the dwarves picked up on the changed atmosphere that floated between the two.  But it wasn’t until Donnabelle actually sat down beside Óin that the healer picked up on the new braids (and one of Thorin’s beads) that adorned the hobbit’s hair.

Óin smiled brightly, realising exactly what had happened the night before.  “I think congratulations are in order, namadith.”

“Thanks, Óin,” the hobbit said with a blush.

“What congratulations?” Dori asked, looking between his king and their burglar.

It was then that Fíli and Kíli really had a hard look between Donnabelle and their uncle.  They could see that Donnabelle’s braids had been redone in a way she’d never worn before.  (Neither of them had been asked to braid her hair since _that_ night in Mirkwood, and they had figured she had gained enough movement in her arm to do it herself; they knew the simple braids she’d worn after that night had _not_ been done by Thorin.)  Their gazes quickly shifted to their uncle – and yes!  There was a new braid in his hair, sporting not just one bead but _two!_   Their own faces quickly broke into grins as they rushed their ‘new’ aunt and their uncle.

Thorin couldn’t help smiling softly down at Donnabelle.  “The official ceremony won’t be until after we reclaim Erebor.”

 **~Took you long enough,~** Nori grunted with a grin.  And then he went immediately pale as he ducked behind Bifur, covering his crotch.

 **~Bifur, move!~** was the only warning the dwarf got before Donnabelle flicked a pebble toward Nori (which caught him on the ear).

“Would you stop throwing stones at me!” Nori complained, rubbing his ear.  “That really hurt!”

**~Yeah?  Well, I warned you last time you made a joke about my relationship I’d hit you somewhere more painful.~**

“You’re no fun,” Nori pouted, not really picking up on the slight muscle jumping in Donnabelle’s jaw.

But Thorin had.  “Enough!” their leader growled.  “This goes for all of you.  There will be no jokes, rude comments or any negativity about our relationship, especially where _we_ can hear it.  If you cannot say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”

“You’ve never really deterred us from making jokes about your relationships before,” Kíli put in.

“That was before,” Thorin said simply, sitting beside his hobbit and wrapping his arm around her.

“Or have you forgotten _why_ I was a slave?” Donnabelle added.  “Please don’t make this harder on me than it already is.”

And it seemed that the dwarves really saw their burglar, and new queen, for the first time since the Carrock.  She rarely showed them that she was vulnerable, or that she still suffered from her time as a slave.  Yet now, they could clearly see her haunted past of loneliness and pain on her face together with her longing that the present reality she and Thorin had wasn’t just a dream.  So her pleading for them to stop with the incessant teasing of her (very new) relationship with Thorin was something they couldn’t deny.  Each company member looked at the other dwarves gathered around their king and his new bride, and made a quiet pact that they would help bring out the brave, wonderful hobbit they knew her to be more often than the haunted little burglar they saw right then.

**THTHTHTH**

Thorin pulled Dwalin, Fíli and Kíli aside just as they were approaching the bridge to Lake Town.  The company had spent ten days on the road making their way down from the Woodland realm.  “While we’re in the world of men, I don’t want her to be left alone with them.”

Dwalin nodded, as did the two princes.

“We’ll stay with her, Idad,” promised Fíli.

The king gave the two boys a small nod and looked to Dwalin.  If the warrior hadn’t known Thorin so well, he would have missed the fear and worry etched into Thorin’s eyes.  “They will only get to her over my dead body,” the dwarf promised.

“Get to whom?” a new voice joined the conversation.  The three royals and the royal guard turned abruptly, drawing their weapons as they did.  In the shadows stood a tall man – at least a foot taller than Dwalin – with a bow notched with an arrow.  Dwalin growled low in his throat.  The man seemed to ignore the warning growl and raised an eyebrow.  “Strange to see thirteen dwarves in these parts.  What brings you to the borders of Lake-town?”

“We are simple merchants,” Balin responded, stepping forward and trying not to bring attention to the fourteenth member of their company.  “On our way to the Iron Hills.  We seek supplies and safe passage across Long Lake.”

“Merchants you say?” the man asked with a frown, returning the arrow he held to his quiver and slinging his bow across his back.  “Here I thought thirteen was an unlucky number for dwarves.”

“What of it?” Thorin growled.

“There’s no need to be hostile,” Donnabelle said, laying a hand on Thorin’s arm.  “Yet.”

Bard looked quizzically down at the small lass that appeared beside the apparent leader of the dwarves.  The said leader’s gaze softened slightly as he looked her over.

“I don’t want to see you hurt, amrâlimê.”

The man looked down at the diminutive woman with Thorin and asked, “Forgive me for asking Miss, but what exactly are you?”

Donnabelle turned and looked up at the tall man with a set frown.  “I’m one of the Shirefolk.  A hobbit.”

“A halfling?” the man returned and took a step backward as all thirteen dwarves had their weapons out and pointed at him.

The hobbit cleared her throat.  “Just so you know, ‘halfling’ is offensive to us if we’re called that by anyone outside our race.”

“I meant no offence.”

She nodded slightly in acceptance and turned to Thorin.  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not go into Lake-town.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Thorin returned quietly.  “We need their help.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Bard cleared his throat, nervously looking around the hostile looking dwarves, and then at the hobbit and the dark-haired leader.  “What could I do to help?”

“You would be willing to help us?” Balin asked.

“Times are hard, for all of us.  But I offer you my help if only to see you on your journey safely.”

Thorin looked at Balin, gave the councellor a nod, and then looked up at the man.  “Thank you.  Would you be willing to take us into the city to speak with your leaders?  We will pay for your time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:  
> “Agyâdê” translates as “my happiness”  
> “Amrâlimê” translates as “my love”  
> “Idad” translates as “uncle”  
> “Kurdula” translates as “my heart of all hearts”  
> “Namadith” translates as “little sister”


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarves seek help from Bard and the men of Lake-town. Bard works out who Thorin is.

Bard led the dwarves and Donnabelle through the canals of Lake-town to his home.  The man had offered them shelter for the night and he was willing to take them to the Master of Lake-town in the morning.  The company readily agreed, if only to get out of the elements for the night.  It was dark by the time they arrived at the bargeman’s house and the dwarves were surprised when three children rushed out to greet the man.

“Da!” the eldest daughter cried as Bard wrapped his arms around her.  “I’ve been worried.”

“Have you been good?” Bard asked and gave a warm smile to all three of his children.   The smaller girl nodded and looked inquisitively at the dwarves.  “We’ve got some guests tonight.”

“Wow!  Will they bring us luck?” Tilda asked and Bard laughed slightly.

“Maybe they will,” the bargeman replied.  He led the dwarves, hobbit, and his family back inside his home.  “It isn’t much, but it should suffice for the night.”  Bard’s attention was drawn to the only female in the company and frowned when she refused to look at him.  In fact, the hobbit did not speak much to anyone except for the leader and seemed to make herself smaller whenever she could.  If it hadn’t been for the fact he’d seen her and talked to her on the lakeshore, Bard would have completely overlooked the small woman.  The man looked between her and the dwarves, and finally up at his children.

For some reason, his children didn’t really take notice of the only non-dwarf (apart from themselves) in their home.  It was as if Donnabelle was there, but not really there.

He was about to ask exactly what was going on when Bofur spoke up.  “Don’t ask.  She feels safer if you don’t.”

“What?”  It was only then that Bard seemed to realise that there may have been a conversation going on in his home that he was unaware of.

“Don’t ask,” Balin repeated the instructions.

By that stage, though, the three children realised that there was something more going on, and they looked to their father for an explanation.  Their father, in turn, looked toward the dwarves because he couldn’t direct his questions to the person he truly wanted to ask.  The dwarves just directed their attention to Thorin, and the lass he was softly speaking to.

Looking at the two of them, Bard was struck by the meek attitude the hobbit was displaying, and her desperate attempts to fade into the background.  She was different from the hobbit he’d met earlier.

“What exactly is going on here?”

Thorin briefly looked in Bard’s direction before he turned his attention back to Donnabelle.  Not even a few moments later, the dwarven king sent a single, fleeting nod in Balin’s direction.  Balin took that as a go-ahead to tell Bard and his family about (at least a small portion of) Donnabelle’s past.

“Donnabelle was a slave.  We think to humans at one point,” Balin said.

“How long?”

“Sixteen years,” Thorin answered.  “For my peace of mind, and for her safety, we need to move on as soon as we can.  We can’t stay for longer than tomorrow.”

“That won’t be enough time for us to gather supplies,” the elderly advisor countered.  “And we need to rest before we move on.”

“We’re not going to stay in Lake-town another night unless I can trust the people we stay with.  We’ll camp on the lake shore if we have to.”

“Why are you wearing boys clothes?” Tilda asked of the hobbit, ignoring the adult conversation going on around her.  She had moved to Donnabelle’s side and had tugged on the hobbit’s sleeve until she’d turned her attention to the little girl.  The rest of the company froze at the innocent question out of Tilda’s mouth.  They needn’t have worried, though, when they saw Donnabelle’s face light up at the question.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” the hobbit said, laughter lacing her voice as she leaned toward Tilda.  Then Donnabelle stage whispered, “It’s much easier to ride a pony when you’re dressed as a boy.”  Fíli and Kíli looked at each other before they started snickering.  They knew that wasn’t the real reason Donnabelle had dressed up as a man, yet it was also true.  (Not that either of them had _ever_ tried riding a pony in a dress after the last time their mother had caught them playing dress-up in her wardrobe.  Neither of them wanted to relive that particular telling off.)  Donnabelle narrowed her eyes at them, yet did not want to tell the boys off in front of Bard.

“Fíli, Kíli.  Enough.  It was a fair question,” Thorin put in, but his eyes were sparkling with hidden humour.  It seemed that he, too, remembered the last time his nephews had snuck into Dís’s wardrobe.  “Do you have any other questions for our hobbit, little one?” he asked of Tilda.

“Why do you have beards on your feet?”

“Yeah,” Bofur put in.  “Why don’t you just grow them on your faces?”

“Because I’m a hobbit,” the Shireling explained to Tilda gently, ignoring the hatted dwarf.  “It would be unseemly for a hobbit to wander around wearing shoes, except in extremely cold weather.  So we need a way to keep our feet warm.  But they do look a bit like beards, don’t they?”  Tilda nodded and curiously looked at the hobbit’s feet again.  Donnabelle drew her attention back upward when she said, “My name’s Donnabelle.  What’s yours?”

“Tilda.”

“And how old are you, Tilda?”

“I’m nine.”  She looked around the room and pointed at her sister.  “That’s Sigrid, she’s fifteen.  And my brother’s Bain.  He’s thirteen.”

As Donnabelle was talking to Tilda, (the hobbit always seemed to relax a little while she talked to children – it seemed they had a way around her defences) Balin turned to their host.  “Belle apologizes for her husband’s behaviour and wants to thank you for your understanding of the situation.  She is still a little unsure of you, but is willing to look past that for your children’s sakes.”

“How do you know that?” Bard asked.  “And who would her husband be?”

“I am,” Thorin responded, moving to Balin’s side.  “And we’ve known Donnabelle a long time now.  She looks up to Balin like a younger sister would an older brother.”

“In fact,” Dwalin added, “Most of the company see her as a little sister and she sees us as her family.”

Bard nodded and accepted the answer.  He looked over at his children (and several of the younger dwarves) who were currently listening to a story Donnabelle was telling them.  A wistful smile appeared on his face and he wished his own wife were there to see their children.  Bard looked back at Balin as he thought about what the two dwarves had said.  He could probably guess what any one of his children would say in a given situation if he were asked, perhaps in the same way Balin had for the hobbit.

The man frowned and looked down at Thorin, Balin and Dwalin.  “Forgive me for asking, but how does a hobbit manage to see dwarves as family and for you to do the same with her?  All of you seem very protective of her even when she is not of your race.”

Thorin felt his eyes drawn to his wife (and tried to ignore the fluttering in his chest at the title) and grew pensive.  “She grew up with my brother,” he answered softly.  “He was also a slave.”

“I’m sorry,” Bard said, clearing his throat.

Thorin nodded in acceptance.  “We’d best get some sleep.  I feel tomorrow will be a long day.”

**THTHTHTH**

The following morning changed everything.  The dwarves had been very careful about not using Thorin’s name; they feared that his name would be the dwarven name most would recognise in Lake-town and with good reason.  Thorin had been the only one of the dwarves old enough to be remembered at the fall of Dale and Erebor.  And he was known as the heir to the throne.  Balin was also old enough to be around at the time of Smaug’s desolation, yet the advisor had only been seven at the time.

Their caution went out the window when Balin accidently let slip the exiled king’s name after they spotted the dwarfish wind lance, and Bain had told the story of how Girion had loosened a scale under Smaug’s left wing.  The dwarves did not notice their mistake, or that Bard had slipped out the door upon hearing the exiled king’s name.

Bard closed the door to his home behind him and leaned against the railing of the landing.  “Thorin,” he whispered quietly, trying to place the name.  He was sure he’d heard the name somewhere before.  And he couldn’t help but think of the tale the dwarves had told of his ancestor and the fall of Dale.  They had spoken as if they had been there; had actually seen the destruction Smaug had brought upon the town and mountain.  At least, the one they’d called Thorin sounded as if he had been there.  One or two of the other dwarves may have been old enough to have been there but Bard was never really sure how to judge a dwarf’s age.  His eyes widened and he felt drawn to look at the mountain that loomed over the horizon.  “Thorin,” the man whispered again and he heard the door to his home open.  The bowman turned, expecting one of his children to call to him.

But it wasn’t.  It was Donnabelle, looking very much like a little warrior ready to face down a dragon.  Her eyes were set on him and the mountain standing tall behind him.  He blinked, trying to reconcile the diminutive hobbit warrior before him with the shy, near silent lass of the night before.

“You’ve got questions?” Donnabelle asked.

“Thorin?”

“Son of Thráin, son of Thrór.”

Bard closed his eyes and hung his head.  “The lord of silver fountains,” he added, once he placed the name together with the history he knew of the kings beneath the mountain.  “The king of carven stone; the king beneath the mountains shall come into his own.”

Donnabelle waited for him to return his attention back to her and she looked at him with such understanding that he wasn’t sure where it came from.  “Do you mean to take back the mountain?” he asked.  He did not even wait for her to answer the question before he began his next.  “Do you know what that would bring upon us?  If you wake the beast?  You’ll bring upon us dragon fire and ruin.”

“I know.”

“How could you possibly know?”

She moved to lean against the railing.  If she was going to tell this man about her history, or at least some of it, she needed her courage.  And for some reason, watching ripples in the water seemed to calm her down, though she’d always hated the thought of any water than her bathtub.  “There were times when I was growing up that Frérin – that’s Thorin’s brother – couldn’t protect me, as much as he wanted to.  I would be subjected to whatever torture our master deemed necessary for me to learn my ‘lesson’.  Most of the time, it was because of a poor decision he had made, or advice he’d listen to from his mother.  Sometimes, it was because he wanted to teach Frérin a lesson.”  Donnabelle stopped and swallowed thickly.  There had been other times, of course, where she had deserved the punishment.

Her voice remained steady as she continued, “He told me tales of Dale and of Erebor before the dragon came.  I think it was for both of us, to stay strong.  He told me of the day he’d been out with his brother and sister, the day the dragon came.  And the ruin that day brought to whole families.  But he never let me forget the hope he had that one day the dwarves of Erebor would be back; that there would be peace again between the men of Esgaroth and the dwarves of Erebor.”  She blinked back her tears and looked up at the man beside her.  “Frérin told me on that day of peace, the men of the lake would no longer be bound in shadow and fear of dragon fire.  And he told me I shouldn’t live in shadow or fear either.”

Bard swallowed hard and couldn’t meet the brave little hobbit’s eyes.

“I may not trust men, but we need help.  I made a promise to my brother when he died that I would try to move past what _they_ did to me.”  Donnabelle set her jaw and waited until Bard turned to look at her.  Her voice was hard as she continued, “I’m not saying this for you.  Frankly, I don’t trust you yet, but I’m asking because your children seem nice.  I don’t know what to expect when we get to the mountain.  I don’t know if Smaug still lives.  But we need to try.  Otherwise, the dwarves will not be able to go back to their loved ones and they will have nowhere to go.  This is their last chance to secure a good future for their families.”

The man cleared his throat and it wasn’t surprising to him that his voice was thick with emotion.  “I promised to help you yesterday.  And I am a man of my word.  I will help you, Lady Donnabelle.”

Donnabelle nodded and seemed to shrink back into the shy hobbit lass that she’d been the night before.  She looked over her shoulder at the door to where Fíli stood.  The blond prince had his arms crossed over his chest.  Bard hadn’t even noticed that the prince had joined them.

“We promised payment in return for your help.  Yesterday we gave you a down payment.”  Fíli gave his aunt a reassuring smile before he set his gaze on the bowman.  “We will help you and all that follow you in rebuilding Dale and Esgaroth to their former glory once we have the mountain back.”

“You would help rebuild these two towns?”

Fíli nodded.  “Uncle wants to see Erebor great again and he knows he cannot do that without the help of men to trade with.  You seem trustworthy.”

Bard nodded his thanks.  “I best be off then, to talk to the master.”  The man shuddered slightly.  Both the dwarf and hobbit noticed and a quick conversation took place between them.

The dwarven prince smiled again and said, “Let Balin and Thorin come with you.  Perhaps they will be able to help convince this ‘master’ of our cause.”  The young dwarf caught Donnabelle’s eye again and moments later, the boy was snorting with laughter but stopped instantly when the hobbit glared.  “Okay, okay!  I’ll ask.  Is the Master of Lake-town greedy and corrupt?”

“Very much so.”

Donnabelle shivered and slipped back indoors.  She wanted nothing to do with corrupt men.  Neither Fíli nor Bard blamed her for that.

**THTHTHTH**

Thorin and Balin did go with Bard to seek an audience with the Master of Lake-town.  It did not go exactly as they pictured it, though they had expected some resistance from the townspeople.  Thorin had promised the people riches and for the city to become a hub of trade once more.  Yet the biggest obstacle for them was that there was no one there willing to step up and vouch for Thorin and Balin.

“Why should we take you at your word?  We know nothing about you.  Who here can vouch for your character?”

Thorin turned and looked up at Alfrid and scowled.  If the entire company were there, both dwarves were sure that Donnabelle would have stepped forward and would have vouched for Thorin.  And they knew also that that would have been detrimental to their goals because of the hobbit’s relationship with Thorin Oakenshield himself.

“Wait!” Bain came running through the crowd.  In his hand was a parchment.  “Da, she said you’d be needing this.”

“She said?  Who said?” Alfrid asked just as Bard took the parchment from his son.

The bowman had a rueful smile on his face as he quickly scanned the page.  The smile fell as he finished reading.  Then he read the missive to the people.  “‘Bard, son of Grindan, descendant of the house of Girion, last Lord of Dale, greetings.  I am a child of the kindly West and I know my vouching for these dwarves before you would not hold much value.  You do not know me, nor I you.  Yet I fear we may not have much time.  Therefore, in honour of peace and the treaty the Lord of Silver Fountains holds with the prince of the Woodland Realm, I beseech you to extend your aid in helping us reach the mountain so that all may profit once more of the riches of this realm and that we are no longer bound in the shadow of fear Smaug has long laid over these lands.

“‘If this is to end in fire, then I must beg for your forgiveness.  We have little to no options left for us in the west.  Your humble servant; Donnabelle, daughter of Belladonna Took.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grindan is a name that means “sharp”. I googled ‘Anglo-Saxon’ male names and chose one that fit the best with Bard’s name and his ancestor’s name of Girion. Also on the list I found was ‘Beowulf’ and ‘Beorn’.  
> http://broethr.wikia.com/wiki/Anglo-Saxon_Male_Names


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Lake-town and reaching the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third day of Blotmath, Shire Reckoning, is the equivalent of October 22nd, which is when Durin's day fell in TA 2941, when the Company enter the mountain.

Thorin wrapped his arms around his wife as their borrowed skiff set off from Lake-town.  All in all, they had stayed in the town nearly two full weeks, far longer than Thorin wanted for the sake of sparing Donnabelle the pain of recalling horrifying memories.  But it had been Donnabelle that had convinced the dwarven leader that they should probably stay for the sake of relations and peace if their quest were to be successful.  After all, Balin had been right: a day was not enough time to gather the necessary supplies needed to journey to the hidden door.  Plus they had plenty of time to scout out for their way into the mountain: Durin’s Day did not fall until the third day of Blotmath, Shire Reckoning, and they had found they’d arrived in Lake-town a full month before that.

The dwarven king rested his cheek on Donnabelle’s head as they looked toward Erebor and he thought back to their final days of being in the world of men.  He had to admit, he was pleased (and extremely proud) to know that though Donnabelle was not all that happy to actually _stay_ in Lake-town after the first week the company had been there, she still had the courage to stay.  For he knew there had been times she had threatened to return to her Shire and to her books no matter how much the dwarves promised she would not have to deal and interact with the men of Lake-town if she so chose.

As long as Donnabelle only had to deal with Bard (whom somehow managed to win Donnabelle’s begrudging trust in the two weeks she and Thorin stayed with him) or his children, she was okay.  The hobbit was a bundle of nerves if she dealt with anyone else from the town or who was a slimy grease ball.

The dwarves had all heard of the incident that had happened the previous day and they were glad for the chance to get away from it.

Fíli and Kíli had persuaded their aunt to join them on their last sojourn through the marketplace, picking up the last minute supplies they might need for their journey.  She’d agreed, if only they promised to stay with her while they were in the marketplace and they wouldn’t take too long.  Oh, and if they called her ‘Bilbo’: there was no way she would be wandering around in the world of Men as a woman.  They had readily promised and had watched as the hobbit they’d come to love as their aunt shifted easily back into the disguise the boys had first gotten to know five months previously.  She herself wasn’t so sure about her ability to keep her disguise up while in the marketplace but thought if the two princes were with her, she would be fine.  It wasn’t as if she was out looking to get emotionally compromised: it was only when she was extremely upset, angry or scared that she made mistakes and let her abilities slip (or when she was completely exhausted).

Donnabelle had stopped at one of the stalls near the end of their journey through the marketplace, finishing off a purchase for a Durin blue baby blanket (if she was asked later why she bought the blanket, she wouldn’t have been able to say exactly _why_ she had purchased it, just that she felt that it was _right_ ) when she overheard a conversation between a mother and daughter at the next stall over.

“Ma, do you think we’ll ever meet the ‘child of the kindly West’?  What is that anyway?”

The question wasn’t all that strange: Donnabelle hadn’t spent a lot of time with the people of Lake-town, preferring to be alone or stay with only a few of the dwarves.  But her face fell slightly at the mother’s reply.

“The halflings of the West are just fairy stories, darling.  They don’t exist.”

Fíli and Kíli stopped when they heard that and, trying to be helpful, decided to correct the mother.  “Excuse me, madam; the Shirelings prefer to be called hobbits, not halflings.”

“You’ve met one?” the girl asked, turning to the dwarves.

The woman frowned at the pair.  “Excuse me?”

It wasn’t until Donnabelle spoke up that the woman and her daughter even noticed that she was there.  “Fíli, Kíli.  Leave it.  We should get back to Thorin.”

“Who is this little fellow?”

Donnabelle turned to look at the woman and answered shortly, “I am a hobbit, madam.”

“Hobbits don’t exist.”

“I assure you,” the burglar in question snapped, “if hobbits did not exist, then I would not be here and the dwarves of Erebor would not have made it past the Misty Mountains.”  Donnabelle had a stern expression on her (male) face.  “Tell me, have you ever seen a dragon?”

“No.”

“How, then, do you know that such a beast exists?”

“Stories from my forebears.”

Donnabelle set her jaw and nodded once.  “And I assume you know about hobbits by the same principal?”  The woman nodded in reply, so the hobbit continued; “If then, by your own reasoning and the tales you have _heard_ , you know that dragons exist; how then can you turn around and state that another race does not using the excuse that we are just ‘fairy stories’?”

The woman thought about it but still refused to believe it.  Donnabelle hardened her eyes and balled her fists.  “But can you actually prove it?” another woman asked.  It was only then that Fíli and Kíli realised they were in trouble when they realised they and Donnabelle were gathering an audience.  It dawned on Donnabelle around the same time, and she began to panic.  She never really did well in large crowds and the marketplace was quickly becoming too much for the little hobbit.  Looking around, she caught Fíli and Kíli’s eyes and silently begged them to get her out of there and fast.

And if the two princes hadn’t known their hobbit so well, they wouldn’t have seen the slight change in her eye colour: her eyes went from her usual blue-grey colour to a stormy green.  Her hair rippled slightly (a reflection of her inner turmoil) and the two dwarves were thankful that there was a slight breeze that day they could blame her hair ripple on if anyone asked.  Quickly, they flanked her and were grateful for the next voice they heard.

“What’s going on here?”  It was Dwalin, which meant that Thorin probably wasn’t too far behind either.  Donnabelle looked around for the burly dwarf and as soon as she spotted him, she darted for his protection.

Fíli and Kíli were not far behind the hobbit and explained the situation.  The two of them were not all that surprised at their uncle’s bristling when he heard what had happened.  All four dwarves surrounded the hobbit, shielding her from the townspeople.  Thorin wanted to take _his_ burglar into his arms but also knew it was not the time nor place to do that based on her disguise.  But he did shift closer to her so that she could take comfort from the fact that he was _there_.

It was then that Bard appeared, and the bowman was able to take in the small circle of dwarves around a distraught (slightly unfamiliar) hobbit.  He frowned slightly but decided to push it out of his mind as he focused on the others in the marketplace.  “What are you all looking at?” he asked.  “Do you want to frighten the poor hobbit more?  Did your mothers never teach you that it’s rude to stare?”

The crowds seemed to break up at that reprimand and Bard turned to the four dwarves with a puzzled expression on his face.  Dwalin nodded his thanks to the bowman.  It was only after Thorin led Donnabelle and the others back to their lodgings that they realised something: Bard had seen Donnabelle in her natural form, and just then in her male disguise in the marketplace.  It wouldn’t take him much to put two and two together.

Donnabelle had wrapped her arms around Thorin as soon as they were safely out of the open (and Thorin did not complain; he would use any excuse to have her in his arms).

Bard had returned a little later, giving the hobbit a chance to collect herself after her scare.  He had a knowing look on his face as he looked around the dwarves.  “Tell me, does Donnabelle feel safer pretending to be a male in large crowds because of her past?”

“Yes,” Thorin answered immediately.

Donnabelle sniffed and looked up from where she rested her head against Thorin’s chest.  She pulled his arms tighter around her.  “Last time I had dealings with men, my brother was killed.  And… they were set to rape me.”  Bard had paled and felt horrified when she admitted that.  No, the man didn’t blame her for her avoidance of men, if that was what was in her past.  And he didn’t blame her for wanting to feel safer by dressing up as a male to go out in crowds.

The company said farewell to Bard and his children after they had spent a quiet night in his home and were thankful they were leaving the next day.  In a way, so was Bard, though he would miss the tales the dwarves told to his children to keep them entertained.

Thorin planted a kiss on her forehead, causing the hobbit to look up at him.  “I’m sorry we had to stay so long,” he whispered.

“Not your fault,” she returned and looked back over her shoulder at the fading outline of Lake-town.

“Tell you what, if you help me with negotiations with the elves, I’ll do the negotiating with the men.”

She snorted, knowing that she’d already negotiated with the elves for her dwarves’ release from the Woodland Realm and that Thorin had done a lot of the ground work negotiating with the Lake-men.  They had yet to fulfil the promises made to both races once the mountain was theirs again, but it seemed that they worked well together already.  Thorin detested working with the elves (especially when Donnabelle could deal with them better) while Donnabelle shuddered at the thought of having to deal with the Lake-town Master and his gaggle of sleazy councillors.

Thorin smiled at the small snort he received from Donnabelle and pulled her closer to his side.  Both revelled in the closeness they shared, despite the company surrounding them.  Fíli and Kíli almost gagged when they saw their uncle bury his nose in Donnabelle’s hair and started playing with their marriage braid.

“Save me from indecent exposure,” Kíli called.  “Innocent eyes here!”

“I’m going to kill him,” Thorin whispered against the tip of Donnabelle’s ear.  She shivered slightly with desire.

“You can’t,” she whispered back.  “He’s your heir.”

“Fíli’s my heir.”

“What would Dís say if she found out you were the one responsible for her son’s death?”  Donnabelle pulled back as soon as she finished speaking.  She knew she’d gone too far with that comment.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Thorin’s expression had grown dark as he focused on the mountain ahead of them.  “You’re right.  You shouldn’t have.  But Dís _would_ make me feel her… displeasure if anything more than a cracked rib befell her sons.”

Donnabelle tried to make herself smaller in the middle of the boat and wondered… no.  She wasn’t going to let her mind go there.  But she couldn’t help it.  What would she do if she were in Dís’s position?  A shudder went down her spine as she focused on the dark waters of Long Lake.  She prayed that she wouldn’t be in position of a frantic mother anytime soon.

**THTHTHTH**

The first night on the trail after they left the lake was hard for Donnabelle.  It was the first time Thorin did not offer her his coat and protection when they settled down to sleep since they had been ‘married’ unofficially three weeks before.  In that time, it had seemed that nothing would get between them, or that Thorin would never get tired of showing his beloved his affections.

Oh, Donnabelle knew that there were times when things wouldn’t be all daisies and roses and pretty things.  She knew the man drove her up the wall, just as his brother had done.  But it still hurt when she made her way to what had become ‘their’ bed and it felt like she wasn’t all that welcomed.  The last time she’d felt deliberately left out and ostracised was just after she first got back to the Shire, when her family wasn’t sure of who she was, and they didn’t know what she’d been through.  Once it had become known in the Shire, and especially in Hobbiton, that Donnabelle had been a slave for her abilities, they rallied around the lass and helped her get over most of her trauma.

“I’m sorry, Thorin,” Donnabelle said quietly, not wanting to be somewhere she wasn’t welcomed.  Thorin was lying on his back, his head pillowed by his hands.  He grunted an acceptance of her apology and looked her over.  She was biting her lower lip and was siting a small distance away from him.  He indicated with his head and eyes to the empty spot next to him as invitation, yet he didn’t speak. 

Donnabelle took the invitation gingerly, stopping herself from truly invading the dwarf’s space by just lying next to him.  “Good night, Thorin.”

Still, the dwarf didn’t say a word; his mind was caught up in memories of the mountain and of when his family was whole.  Eventually though, he remembered that she was there and he wrapped an arm around her.

He didn’t see the looks exchanged between the older members of the company and the worried looks they sent toward the hobbit.  They had all experienced his dark moods before (and knew they didn’t really take long to burn out either), yet the hobbit in his arms had not.  It had been a long time since Thorin had fallen into one of his darker moods and the company knew it was directed at the people closest to him.  And they knew out of all of them, Donnabelle was the one he’d let in the most during the past five months.  Their only wish was that their burglar didn’t suffer from bearing the brunt of Thorin’s anger and mood.

Planting a feather-light kiss on his wife’s forehead, Thorin settled down into sleep.

**THTHTHTH**

The company was on foot, scouring the Western flanks of Erebor for any sign of an entrance into the mountain itself.  Donnabelle wished that they had been given ponies, even though she preferred to keep her two feet firmly on the ground.  It had been days since they had left Lake-town, and Thorin was fearing they were running out of time.  The others, too, were worried they would not make it to the secret door by Durin’s Day.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Donnabelle asked Balin.  The two of them had spent more time together since leaving Lake-town and for good reason: the hobbit had found it difficult to deal with Thorin’s black mood that had hit just as they’d left the shores of the lake.  Balin had pulled her aside the second morning they’d been on shore and explained that Thorin had times when the people closest to him knew not to exasperate the man in case he turned around and jumped down their throats.  She’d been very understanding of that, seeing as something similar had occurred with Frérin and she’d seen him take out his dark moods on her.  It hadn’t been often; yet when it had happened, she’d been more than a little frightened.

“A way in,” Balin quietly answered, bringing Donnabelle back to the present.

The hobbit wanted to roll her eyes, but she knew with the way things were between her and Thorin, any further strain on the company would not be welcomed.  “Yes,” she said, keeping her voice level, “but I’m not exactly sure what dwarven doors look like.”

The pair of them looked up as Thorin brushed passed them, sending his wife a condescending look.  A stab of something – hurt she thought, but maybe fear – made its way through her.

“If the map is correct, then the hidden door lies somewhere directly above us!” Thorin called out.

The hobbit frowned at her husband.  There was something… she didn’t know how to put it… off about him ever since they’d reached the foothills of Erebor.  Something more than a black mood.  She blinked and shook her head.  Whatever it was, she couldn’t let it distract her from her duty to the company.  Licking her lips, she looked up and caught Balin’s eye again.  The other dwarf also had a worried look on his face, and it wasn’t directed at her.  So it wasn’t just her then.  If Balin was worried, then Thorin was acting more out of character than usual.

She stopped and really looked at the mountainside.  Was that... _Thrór?_   The hobbit gasped as she could faintly make out the staircase carved into the statue of Frérin’s grandfather.  “Up here!” she called out with a grin.  Thorin came rushing up to her side and grinned slightly.

“You’ve got keen eyes, agyâde,” he said and planted a quick kiss on the side of Donnabelle’s head.  The hobbit allowed herself to lean slightly toward him, but the dwarf was gone again, rushing toward the hidden staircase.  Donnabelle looked after him, feeling lost and confused: the endearment that she’d treasured before they reached Lake-town now felt hollow.

The other dwarves followed after Thorin, leaving Donnabelle to trail behind them.

“Are you alright, lass?” Balin asked; his eyes filled with sadness.

“I don’t understand,” she returned.  “It’s like he’s so focused on just getting inside the mountain that he doesn’t see.  Is… is it…?”  The hobbit dared not finish her question, knowing that Balin would pick up on what she wanted to say without ever voicing it.  Frérin had told her about Thrór, just before the dwarves had escaped from the mountain.  How his grandfather had gone mad with gold-sickness and greed before Smaug came.  Her lower lip trembled as she turned to face the dwarf with her.

Balin didn’t, or couldn’t, answer.  “We shouldn’t fall behind, Donnabelle.”

She nodded, and couldn’t help think that she’d been so wrong on the Carrock: the worst was _not_ behind them.  She feared the worst was only yet to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Agyâde" translates as "my happiness".


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations with Smaug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **~Khuzdul.~**
> 
>  
> 
> Some of the dialogue with Smaug in this chapter comes from the Hobbit book.

Donnabelle didn’t know what to expect when she entered the mountain. All she knew is that she had to find the Arkenstone for Thorin. He hadn’t wanted to let her in, but the hobbit was adamant: she was the only one who _could_ go and perhaps come out alive at the end of it all. After all, her scent was something the dragon would not have smelt before. So it was with much trepidation that Thorin let her head down the passage alone. She felt very small as she came to the end of the hallway and into the main treasure chamber of Erebor. From what she remembered of the stories Frérin had told her of the mountain, the hall she had arrived in was the grandest of all Thrór’s treasure halls. Standing at the edge of the massive cavern, she truly believed that.

Her eyes lit up at the piles of gold, gems and trinkets. There was even more in the hall than Frérin had led her to believe! She gulped. How on earth was she supposed to find the Arkenstone in all of that treasure? And was Smaug still alive under all that?

She blinked and rubbed her eyes. _Focus,_ she told herself. _You’ve got a job to do._

Carefully, the hobbit made her way down the stairs and onto the gold itself. And she couldn’t help the small grin that spread across her face at the sheer amount of precious gems and gold beyond measure and count. It was beautiful she had to admit. And then, slowly, her mind caught up with her heart and she blinked rapidly to rid herself of the fog in her mind. Would it hurt if she stole away just one gem? Would her companions notice if just one item was missing from the vastness of the hall?

 _Stop!_ Donnabelle commanded herself. _Arkenstone. Must find the Arkenstone._ “Large white jewel. Very helpful.”

Her eyes scanned the room once again, and then looked back toward the exit from which she’d come. If Smaug were in this vast chamber, she wouldn’t know it. And she had no way of concealing herself if he _did_ wake him up. Donnabelle moved further into the chamber and there! Surely, that was the Arkenstone. It was beautiful, shining with an inner light. It was almost as if it was made of starlight. She began moving toward it and then stopped. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the mountain of gold change and move.

Oh dear, the dragon was behind her. She could feel the bed shifting as Smaug slithered awake behind her. Turning, she felt her eyes widen as the giant red head lift up over her and it snarled.

She gulped at the sheer size of it and wished again that she hadn’t sent the ring off with Beorn!

“Well, thief, I know you’re in here,” the dragon began. And then he fixed one gleaming red eye on Donnabelle and he stopped. Smaug wasn’t quite sure what to make of the small, quivering creature that had dared make its way into his lair. “What are you?” Smaug asked. “You are not a dwarf – no one knows the taste or smell of dwarf better than me.”

“I’m nobody really,” Donnabelle returned, taking a crawling step backwards. It so happened that it also took her a step closer to the Arkenstone.

“Oh, I highly doubt that.” Smaug lowered his head so it was level with Donnabelle’s head (or whole body really, it was that big). “What is this smell?” the dragon hissed, tasting the air with his tongue. “You are drenched in the smell of filthy dwarves, yet you are not one of them. What brings a dwarf that is not a dwarf into my halls?

“I only wanted to see if the tales are true, O Smaug the Magnificent,” the hobbit responded. “Surely the tales and songs fall short of your enormity.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Of course not, Smaug the Chiefest and Greatest of all Calamities,” she snorted.

“Something amusing?”

“Well, Smaug the Tyrannical, you are not the first to tell me so. I learnt that lesson the hard way when dealing with others much larger than myself.”

Smaug, it seemed, could look smug at the names Donnabelle was calling him. “Do tell, thief.”

“You asked me what I am. I will tell you. I come from the very bottom of society, and therefore, people overlook me.” The dragon, if it had eyebrows, would have raised one to indicate his boredom. Donnabelle saw that and gave the massive beast a brief submissive nod. “I come from the end of a bag, but no bag went over me. I come from Underhill and over hills my path has led. I was once a slave, yet kings owe me their allegiance. Through the air, I am she that hides in plain sight.”

“So I can well believe,” said Smaug, “but that is hardly your usual journey or usual name.”

“I am the clue-finder, the web-cutter, the stinging fly. I was chosen for the lucky number.”

“Lovely titles!” sneered the dragon. “But lucky numbers don’t always come off. Or the allegiance of kings.”

“Oh, no. I quite agree, O Smaug the Great!” the hobbit said cheerfully. “I would not have left my master’s house otherwise.”

The dragon stepped backward at the venom coming from the small, unknown creature. “What are you exactly?”

“I am a friend of bears and a guest of eagles. I am a chameleon and a daughter of kings.”

Then, the dragon realised that the child before him was more than just a daughter. He could practically smell it dripping off her. “And you carry something more precious to you than gold. I wonder, do those filthy usurping dwarves know of what you carry?” Smaug snorted, not waiting for the hobbit to answer. She doubted she could anyway. “I think not. They would not have sent you in here if they knew. But no matter. You will be the first of your companions to die.”

Donnabelle froze, and somehow, her hand landed on the Arkenstone itself. It didn’t seem important anymore – nor did the rest of the gold, silver and gems. Was what Smaug said truly real? Was she carrying something far more precious than gold? She was brought back to reality when Smaug next spoke.

“Don’t think those lovely titles deters me from knowing where you’ve recently come from. For I know you must have stopped in Lake-town. You and your companions would have needed fresh supplies and that is the only place that is close enough to do that.”

The little hobbit’s eyes darted down to the frosted, star-lit gem and she began to fight back her terror at facing a fire-breathing worm. “Who said anything about… what was it? Lake-town? Isn’t that a town in the world of men? You must realise, O Smaug the inaccessibly wealthy, that the world of men were the ones that caused my _heartache_ to begin with!”

That caught the dragon’s attention. “Oh? Do tell!”

“That is the reason I am here, O Smaug the Mighty. For _revenge_ on those that have wronged me.” _And you, O Smaug, are at the top of the list!_

“Very clever. And what have those miserable Lake-men done to you?”

The hobbit shrugged. “Other than make me relive my brother’s death? Not a lot, but it was men who first sold me into slavery, and it was men who took my brother from me.”

“So what is to stop me from destroying the town?”

Donnabelle pushed herself up and set her jaw. “Nothing. Go ahead and do just that.”

That got Smaug to pause and inquisitively, he turned his head sideways to glance at the small creature side on. Did the little one really want him to destroy the town on the lake?

“I mean,” the hobbit continued, “it’s not like I can stop you, O Smaug the Frightful. What am I in the grand scheme of things? After all, I am just a small, fragile hobbit in the wide world with not much to offer.” Her eyes darted around, searching for the passageway she came through. She winced slightly as she realised the dragon was situated between her and her escape route back to her dwarves.

Smaug thought about it and knew the little thing was right. It wasn’t as if she could stop him, or even really harm him. “What do you get from all of this?”

“Nothing, but to gaze one last time on your magnificence, and to prove the tales false.”

“What tales?”

“That a dragon’s underside is softer and more vulnerable than the rest of their hide,” Donnabelle explained. “Perhaps that is why you are rarely seen out of this cave? Are you afraid that you may be killed if you bared your chest?” Smaug puffed out his chest and then spread his wings slightly so he could glide over Donnabelle’s head. There wasn’t really enough room in the massive chamber for him to do that, but it gave the hobbit an opportunity to find the missing scale Bain had talked about. “Dazzlingly brilliant!” praised the hobbit. “What a marvellous glittering waistcoat you have!”

Smaug tilted his head to the side and looked down at the small woman from one eye. “Don’t think flattery will save you, thief. I know where every gem, every piece of gold is within this chamber. And I will not part with a single coin. Not one piece of it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The Arkenstone. That usurper Oakenshield sent you in here for it,” the dragon snapped. 

“Oakenshield?” Donnabelle spluttered. “Who’s Oakenshield?”

“You know very well who _Oakenshield_ is. I can smell him on you!” Smaug pulled back and twisted his long serpentine head to the other side. Softer, the dragon hissed, “I am almost tempted to let you take it if only to see Oakenshield suffer: watch it destroy him. Watch it corrupt his heart and drive him mad.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the hobbit protested, but was afraid of the truth the dragon was speaking to her.

“Don’t try to fool me! His scent all over you. You have been used, thief. You were only ever a means to an end. The coward Oakenshield has weighed the value of your life and found it worth nothing.” The dragon paused, thinking it over before he gave the small hobbit a sinister grin. If a dragon could grin, that was. “But it does not matter. I think our little game ends here. So tell me, thief, how do you choose to die?”

Donnabelle blinked as she allowed the words to wash over her. Suddenly, she felt her breath hitch in her throat and quickly darted behind a pillar. Smaug followed her but stopped mere inches from her hidden form. The hobbit was confused slightly until she remembered all the training she’d done with Frérin growing up. The two of them discovered, quite by accident while she practiced her changeling abilities, that Donnabelle had a way of bending light beams around her. It was similar to a way a silver mirror worked, or a very still pool of water. At least, that’s what Frérin had told her when she’d successfully used it the first time.

When Frérin first discovered Donnabelle’s ability to mimic just about anybody, he had taken it upon himself to teach her to defend herself, as well as help her learn to control her emotions. For he realised that if her emotions were all over the place, then the hobbit couldn’t control her changeling gifts and she would lose the element of surprise. Along the way, both of them had discovered that she could fade into the background, of a sort. It had been a remarkably useful ability for a slave to have, and it had gone a long way to help them secure their freedom when she’d been twenty.

But using her ‘reflective’ skills took a lot out of her, so she rarely used it. She guessed being faced by the terrifying beast of Smaug caused her to instinctively use it. And she was glad she was no longer faced with either Smaug burning her or eating her. She slipped away toward the platform and doorway she first came through. The dragon snapped at the air she’d just vacated and followed her movements with his ears: though she was semi-invisible, Donnabelle knew she still interacted with the environment around her.

The terrified hobbit made a beeline for the passage she initially came through, only to be stopped by Thorin catching her. She buried her face in his chest and took in a heaving breath. But the dwarf was soon forcing her to step backward to look him in the eye.

“Did you find it?” the exiled king demanded.

Donnabelle frowned. Did she find what? “Dragon,” she breathed out when she could form a coherent thought. Her mind was numb.

“The Arkenstone,” Thorin clarified.

“Dragon’s coming,” the burglar repeated. The dark-haired dwarf looked annoyed at the response from her before he let his eyes wander over the vastness of the treasure chamber. And then he caught sight of Smaug looming over the horde of Thrór, staring in their direction.

The dwarven king felt his heart constrict. There was the monster responsible for so many of his kin’s deaths. Balin, Dwalin and the rest of the dwarves came running down the passageway and into the line of sight of the dragon and dragon horde.

In between the company of dwarves and the dragon with his treasure stood one lone little figure, trying her best to get her head around the sly words of the dragon: was she really just a tool to the company, and especially to Thorin? Was she only brought on the journey as a means to an end?

**THTHTHTH**

Balin and Donnabelle were the first out of the mountain after the dragon let them escape to one of the western halls. Smaug had been furious at the dwarves for invading his lair, but he’d been manic at the men of the Lake for thinking they could help the dwarves steal from him.

The two of them, the hobbit and the advisor, made it as far as Ravenhill before they stopped at the horror they saw on the lake. The other dwarves were not far behind them. Lake-town was aflame as the dragon laid waste to the once mighty city of Esgaroth. Fíli and Kíli couldn’t sit and watch the destruction; neither could many of the company. It seemed only Balin, Óin, Dwalin and Donnabelle had the stomach to bear witness to the desolation that fire brought upon the world of men.

Thorin himself stood apart from the others. He was further down the hill, looking back toward the main gates of Erebor. The dwarven king hadn’t even bothered making his way up to the top of Ravenhill with his brethren.

“Poor souls,” Balin whispered as he finally looked away. There was only so much destruction the old dwarf could take.

Donnabelle would have agreed if she had not been so scarred by men. The only people in Lake-town that she cared about were Bard and his children. Her eyes were fixed on the moving figure flying above the town and she frowned. Something happened. She was sure of it. But if someone were to ask her what, she wouldn’t have been able to say. Her eyes stayed trained on the small, far away, figure of Smaug. And she couldn’t help moving closer to the edge of Ravenhill when she saw the dragon fall.

“It fell,” she breathed. Her voice surprised her. She hadn’t expected to say anything at all. “I saw it,” she added and then felt the stares of twelve dwarves on her. Turning to face them, the hobbit declared, “Smaug is dead.”

Glóin was the first to stand to his feet at the hobbit’s declaration. He searched the skies over Lake-town for any sign of the beast. “I do believe she is right!”

“Which means…” Donnabelle started and then trailed. Her attention was drawn back out to the lake. “If there are any survivors, they may decide to head this way.”

The dwarves (and Donnabelle’s) attention was drawn to the lone figure of Thorin below them. He had been the only one of the company who hadn’t witnessed the destruction of Lake-town. The dark-haired king set his jaw at the news of Smaug’s death before he made his way back down the hill toward the gates of Erebor. Slowly, the other dwarves followed after him, leaving Donnabelle to sadly follow them with her eyes.

She hadn’t noticed that Bifur stayed with her, until he spoke up. **~My queen?~** he asked. **~Is everything okay?~**

Donnabelle turned slightly to the toymaker. She nodded slowly as though things were dandy, but deep in her heart, she knew they weren’t. Bifur blinked slowly and returned the nod. He picked up that things weren’t okay with his sister and queen and she didn’t want to speak of it. Smiling softly at her, Bifur turned and followed after his cousins, leaving the hobbit on Ravenhill by herself. Donnabelle watched the injured dwarf follow after the rest of the company.

Once she was sure she was alone, she gingerly placed a hand on her stomach and her eyes were drawn once more to the lake. Was it true?

She shook her head and dropped her hand. No. The dragon lied to her. Like he had lied to her about being a means to an end. The only precious thing she carried was the Arkenstone, nothing more. Yet… Donnabelle couldn’t stop the doubts rising in her mind. Thorin had acted as if he had loved her before they reached Lake-town, and even in the few days leading up to their departure from the world of men. But since they’d reached the foothills of Erebor, it was as if he was another person. As if he no longer loved her and was just focused on a cold stone that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Donnabelle shook her head again, trying to rid herself of that image. Trying to forget the words that Smaug had softly spoken to her. But in her heart of hearts, she knew that she wouldn’t. What Smaug had said, and what Thorin had done, was too reminiscent of what her master had done. All she had been was a means to a profitable end for her master (one that thankfully Frérin had stopped him exploiting). What was she really to Thorin? Was she really just a means of claiming the Arkenstone? Was she doomed to let people in that would ultimately hurt her, and eventually toss her aside once her job was done?

She sniffed and furiously wiped her eyes. She knew that she didn’t have the answers, and probably wouldn’t ever have the answers. And she realised a little too late she was left alone on Ravenhill. None of the dwarves (save perhaps Bifur) realised she _hadn’t_ followed them. For the second time in her life, Donnabelle felt so very small and alone in a very wide world.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin finds out some news, and deals with men, in a most unexpected way.

No one saw the hobbit at all for the first two weeks after the dwarves had reclaimed Erebor.  So intent was their search for the Arkenstone and getting the mountain defensible that the dwarves forgot all else that moved and breathed.  Even Balin and Dwalin overlooked the lass in favour of digging through their reclaimed gold that they didn’t notice that she wasn’t with them.  The dragon sickness had gotten to all of them in varying degrees.  Donnabelle admitted that she, too, fell under the lure of the gold until that fateful conversation with Smaug.

It wasn’t until the sixteenth day after the death of Smaug that the dwarves began to think more than just the treasure horde and finding the Arkenstone.  And that was purely because the survivors of Lake-town began to stream into the ruins of Dale.  All of the dwarves had assembled at the gate after Dori, who had been on watch at the time, called out that he spotted survivors arriving in the town.

Bifur blinked and looked around the assembled dwarves.  The dwarf couldn’t spot their little hobbit amongst them.  **~Where’s Donnabelle?~**

At that question, the rest of the dwarves looked around as well to see if Bifur had been mistaken.  The axe-embedded dwarf was right.  Donnabelle wasn’t there.  And none of them really remembered seeing her after Smaug’s attack on the town.

It was Thorin who next spoke, a thunderous look in his eye and a growl low in his throat.  “Where is my wife?”

“Your wife?” came an indignant voice from a ledge not far from where the dwarves were standing.  They all turned to find Donnabelle sitting there looking out over the valley toward Dale.  She turned to look down at them with a glare.  “Oh, that’s rich, coming from the great king under the mountain!  You’ve paid more attention to _your_ great treasure horde and trying to find some _stupid_ rock the past two weeks than to me!”

“Calm down, lassie,” Dwalin called out, trying to sound soothing (but failing miserably).

Donnabelle got up and clambered down from her perch.  “Do _not_ tell me to calm down, Dwalin son of Fundin!  If Bifur had not mentioned my name...” she took in a shuddering breath before her glower darkened.  She fixed her stormy green eyes on the man that claimed to be her husband.  Thorin took a step closer to the furious hobbit, his own glare planted firmly on his face.  Donnabelle reacted on instinct and pulled a knife before waving it in the direction of the mountain king.  “Do not touch me, or by Durin you’re going to lose something.”

Dwalin stepped forward and reached out his hand to disarm the hobbit.  No one threatened his king without paying for it.  “Put the knife down, lassie.”

Donnabelle looked over the burly dwarf and did the first thing Frérin taught her when she was attacked; she took a step in Dwalin’s direction and kicked him in the most painful place possible.  The bald warrior doubled over in pain.

“Do NOT mess with me right now!  I am armed and I’m _furious_ at ALL of you!”

“What is going on?” Balin asked, taking a step back from the frightening little hobbit.

The little lass turned on the advisor and all of the dwarves felt that they were seeing her for the first time.  Óin couldn’t help but think of the description the elves had given the hobbit while they were encased in the dungeons: and right now, it seemed their description was apt.  Donnabelle _could_ be a little fiend when she wanted to be.

“Are you _seriously_ asking me what is going on?” she demanded.  “Let’s list the things shall we?  First, I had to deal with men.  Men killed Frérin right in front of me and then they tried to _rape_ me!  And then his majesty cast me aside in favour of his dark mood.  Not to mention the fact I faced a _dragon._   After all that, when we knew that the dragon was _not_ coming back, you lot decided that I was not worth all the treasure in Erebor!  You left me _alone_ and _frightened_ in this empty kingdom while you searched for the Arkenstone.  FOR TWO WEEKS!  Did you not think of what a _hobbit_ would do in this mountain?  So don’t tell me to calm down!”  She was heaving heavily once she’d got to the end of her rant.

Kíli stepped closer to the hobbit and she turned on him.  “Back away or you’re going to get it as well!  I am _so_ angry at _all_ of you.”  Donnabelle took in a shuddering breath and turned her hardened glare on Thorin, the true source of her hurt and rage.  “What is so important about that jewel you’re obsessed with, you great lump?”

“It is the crowning glory of this entire kingdom,” Thorin snapped back.  “How dare you speak to your king like that?”

“You are _not_ my king.  I am _not_ your subject.  And _do not_ look at me as one of your possessions!”

“Oh, Mahal!” Ori breathed as he watched Donnabelle yell at Thorin.  Nori frowned at his little brother and then followed the younger dwarf’s pointed finger.  “Look at her.”  The thief’s jaw dropped as he picked up on what the young scholar had.

Soon most of the dwarves noticed what Ori did.  By the time Donnabelle realised that she was the centre of attention (and not for her yelling), she was running out of things to yell at Thorin.  “What?” she asked, directing the question at the rest of the dwarves.  “Why are you all staring at me like that?”

“You look like a dwarrowdam when you’re angry,” Balin responded.

She rolled her eyes as she took a step back from all of them.  Her anger was pretty much deflated by that point.  “I’m not surprised,” Donnabelle said.  “I blame His Royal Snootiness for that.”

“Me?” Thorin growled, not having picked up on Donnabelle’s slight change in appearance.

“Yes, you!” she snapped back.  “You, who values a dead _cold stone_ over the gem you gave me.”

“I have not given you a single gem!” the king returned hotly before he actually registered the words that the hobbit spoke.

Donnabelle covered her mouth, tears pricking at the edges of her eyes.  She was shocked she’d blurted that out, in front of the whole company no less!  But she was even more shocked at the fact that Thorin would deny it (though, she didn’t really blame him as he had no clue he _had_ given her a gem).  Before any of the dwarves could move, the hobbit spun and ran from the gate and into the mountain.

Thorin blinked rapidly and slowly turned his head in the direction that Donnabelle had disappeared.

Fíli looked toward his uncle.  “Is it possible?”

“What gem is she talking about, Balin?” Kíli asked.  When the advisor didn’t answer, the dark-haired prince turned to look at his uncle – as did the rest of the company.

Thorin began to move off after Donnabelle, but common sense told him that he would not be welcomed right then.  His mind was still trying to process the last comment she’d said: _“You, who value a dead, cold stone over the gem you gave me... over the gem you gave me.”_   He ran his hands over his face as it truly sunk in.  It was possible that he had given her a gem, long before they’d arrived in the mountain.  Even before they’d arrived at Lake-town, if he thought about it.  Oh it had been hard to find time alone yet they had stolen away together from the camp twice after their marriage and there were at least three instances where the company had pushed them together into a closed room and subsequently disappeared, leaving the pair quite alone.

“Balin,” Thorin began quietly, breaking the silence.  **~I did not imagine her saying I gave her a gem?~**

 **~No, my king,~** Balin responded.  **~She said that.~**

The dwarf king gave a single nod.  He stood there on the stone wall a moment longer, staring at where Donnabelle had been sitting when the dwarves had first arrived at the gate.  Turning on his heel, he strode back into the mountain and in the opposite direction Donnabelle had gone in.  How could he be sure she had spoken the truth?

**THTHTHTH**

The following day came the first of the parleys from the survivors of Lake-town.  The dwarves were once again assembled at the gate, with no sign of the hobbit.  Thorin set his jaw as he watched Bard ride up on a horse, and the dwarf’s eyes flicked over the surrounding area where the vast army of Thranduil stood, ready for war.

“Hail Thorin, son of Thráin.  We are glad to find you alive beyond hope,” Bard called out as a way of greeting.

“Why do you come to the gates of the King under the Mountain armed for war?” Thorin shot back.

Bard frowned at the short retort that Thorin had sent back at him.  Hadn’t they already sat down and discussed payment for the help the dwarves had received to leave Lake-town?  “Why does the King under the Mountain fence himself in, like a robber in his hole?”

“Perhaps it is because I am expecting to be robbed!”

Bard closed his eyes briefly before he looked up at the dwarven king.  “My lord, we have not come to rob you, but to seek fair settlement.  Will you not speak with me?”

Thorin gave a brief nod, indicating to Bard that the man could dismount and approach the gate.

On the way off the ramparts, the dwarven king looked toward Dwalin, Oin and Bifur.  **~He is tied up in the armoury.  Check on him.  I may have knocked him out harder than I intended.  Balin, I need your help.~**   The four dwarves in question frowned at each other before Thorin brushed his hair back over a small, leaf-like ear.  And they quickly pieced together who the ‘he’ was in the armoury.

Thorin stopped at the small opening in the stonework and glanced sideways at the man on the other side.  “I am listening.”

“I ask only for you to honour your pledge; a share of the treasure so that the people of Lake-town can rebuild their lives.”

The dwarven king shifted so he could fully look Bard in the eye.  “Why should I treat with men when an armed host lies before our walls?”

If the dwarves behind her hadn’t truly realised it was _Donnabelle_ dressed as their king and speaking with Bard, they would have believed her to _be_ Thorin.  Balin stepped to her side to offer her support, though he made sure that he was not seen by Bard.  He wasn’t entirely sure what her purpose was in this, but he did trust her enough not to start a war.

“That armed host will attack this mountain if we do not come to terms.”

“The elves will get nothing, save what was promised them to Legolas, son of Thranduil.  If I see that pointy-eared, holier than thou, tree-shagger, my deal with his son is off.”  Thorin bowed his head slightly before he raised it again to look fully at Bard.  “As for the men of the Lake, we will only uphold our bargain when we are not accosted for war.”

Bard nodded in agreement.  “Fair enough.  I will need time to discuss this with King Thranduil, but I _will_ make sure he does not sit in on the talks.”

Thorin nodded once.  “Make a list of your terms and immediate concerns, Bard the dragon slayer.  We will convene in three days at noon.  If we see the host of elves still armed and aimed in our direction, any negotiations are out.”  The dwarf ducked behind the wall and the man left to head back to Dale.  Looking up, Donnabelle let her disguise fall (though she was still garbed in her husband’s clothing) and gave the nine dwarves with her a small smile before she quietly asked, “Can I have a bucket?”  Nori was the first at her side with said bucket.  Into which the hobbit lost what little she had for breakfast.

Slumping against the rock behind her, Donnabelle slid down the wall to sit, cradling the bucket to her.  Balin knelt beside her, his face was filled with worry.  The rest of the dwarves hung back (except for Fíli and Kíli, who were at their aunt’s side as soon as they deemed it safe).

“Are you alright?” Fíli asked.

Donnabelle shook her head.  She really wasn’t.

Kíli looked up at Balin.  “What’s wrong with her?”

“Just a little thing called morning sickness, laddie,” Glóin replied, having seen the effects of pregnancy had on his wife.  “Nothing but time will help her.”

“Shut up, Glóin,” Donnabelle said quietly.  “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“Don’t be,” Balin returned.  “We all needed the wake-up call you gave us.  The only one I fear it didn’t reach would be Thorin.”

She gave the dwarf a half smile.  “I wouldn’t worry about that.”  But she wasn’t so sure about her words.  Yet she couldn’t stop herself adding, “If I have to, I’ll make sure the men get the money promised them.  Let’s avoid war at all costs, shall we?”

The dwarves snorted at that before Fíli said, “You were very brave, Imad.  Idad is not going to be happy to hear what _he’s_ agreed to.”

“All he’s agreed to is to sit down with the men in three days.  And _some_ body’s got to stand up to that big lump and stop this feuding before an actual war breaks out.  If anything, he can take his anger out on me.”  She looked away from them and down at the bucket still in her hands.  “It’s not like I’m not used to it.”  Biting her lip, she looked back up at the dwarves.  “And I’m trying to save his reputation here.  I don’t think it’ll be a good thing if it got out that Thorin fell to the dragon sickness.  Like the rest of us.”

“What?” Balin asked with a frown.

“All of us had it.  Even me,” Donnabelle admitted.

“What brought you out of it?” Bofur asked.

“The same thing that brought you out of it yesterday.  I was told I carried something precious.”

It was only then that Thorin, Dwalin, Óin and Bifur came out of the armoury.  The dwarven king bore down on the small hobbit while the rest of the dwarves froze to see the anger and hard lines etched onto their king’s face.  Fíli and Kíli quickly got out of their uncle’s way as the dwarrow made his way to Donnabelle.  Taking a hold of one of Donnabelle’s biceps, Thorin dragged his wife to her feet and thrust the bucket she held into one of his nephew’s hands.  Keeping his grip on her bicep firm, yet not firm enough to injure her, he pulled Donnabelle along and into a small office space just off the armoury.  Neither noticed Balin follow them just to make sure neither came to harm.

As soon as they were alone, the dwarrow king turned on the frightened hobbit.  “What do you think you were doing?” Thorin demanded.

She bowed her head in submission, shaking like a leaf.  The last time someone had manhandled her the way that Thorin had just done was when she’d still been a teen.  “I was trying to save your honour,” she responded quietly.  It always went better for her with her master if she did not present herself as a threat.

“Look at me when you speak!” he barked.  Donnabelle looked up as she was commanded, though she could not bring herself to look him in the eye.  She visibly shrank into herself when she saw the displeasure on his face.

It was only then that Balin saw fit to intervene on behalf of the frightened lass and the advisor stepped in between Donnabelle and Thorin.  Thorin glared at the dwarf that dared interrupt his dark mood.  After all, it was well within his right to reprimand the hobbit after the harsh words she’d yelled at the company the previous day.  But Balin was not having an inch of that and glared back at his king and friend. 

“Thorin, you will not harm her,” Balin said levelly, though he very much wanted to yell at the stubborn dwarf king.  “Do you remember what our fathers told us and what you told Víli when he married Dís?”

There was a long paused before either dwarf spoke again.  “Khuzd tada bijebî âysîthi mud oshmâkhî dhi zurkur ughvashâhu,” the dwarven king responded and his voice was quite.  He slowly turning his attention from his long-time friend and advisor to Donnabelle: the hobbit who had stolen his heart.  Oh, he remembered when his father had told him that, and when he’d told Víli on the day the dwarrow married Dís.  _A dwarf that chooses to take a wife must guard her as his greatest treasure._

“And have you done that?”

The dark-haired king stiffened, all of his attention was now on the small (terrified) lass he’d chosen as his wife.  He swallowed hard, knowing that the last two weeks, or even from when they’d left Lake-town, he _hadn’t_ regarded her as his greatest treasure.  If he had been honest with himself (which Thorin hated doing), he hadn’t treated Donnabelle well at all.  He paled as he thought back over the previous three and a half weeks since they’d left the shores of Long Lake.  Ever since they had set foot on Erebor’s slopes, Thorin’s one desire was to reach the mountain and find the Arkenstone.  When his focus _should_ have been on his _greatest_ treasure and _not_ on the cold dead stone that could not add a thing to his family.

“Amrâlimê,” Thorin whispered, half broken as he fell to his knees before the still shaking hobbit.  “I am so sorry.”  He dared not approach her as he begged her for her forgiveness.  Donnabelle whimpered softly and gingerly wrapped her hand around the arm Thorin had manhandled earlier.  It took her a great deal of courage to look up at him.

Balin was not surprised at the range of emotions the woman had shown over the course of the last day.  He remembered when Dís had been pregnant with Fíli and then Kíli.  And he remembered when Glóin’s wife was expecting Gimli.  Both women had been emotional throughout their pregnancies and it was the men closest to them that had to deal with the brunt of their mood swings.  Donnabelle was no different.  And the whole company had felt it the previous day with her anger.  Thorin was now experiencing one of the other extremes of her emotions: her desire to please him.  Yet Balin knew neither would make up until Donnabelle accepted Thorin’s apology and Thorin accepted the gift she held for their future.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Donnabelle nodded.  “I forgive you,” she whispered.

Thorin moistened his lips and cleared his throat.  Why was there suddenly a lump in his throat?  “Please,” he began.  “Yesterday…”  The dwarf really wanted clarification on the news Donnabelle had shared with the company that hadn’t truly sunk in.

“My behaviour yesterday was not the best, your majesty,” she apologised with a bowed head.

Thorin stood and reached out a hand to cup her cheek.  Gently, he tilted her head upward so he could look into her eyes.  “You’re forgiven, bunmel.”

Donnabelle gave him a soft smile at the endearment and lowered her gaze again.  She licked her lips and whispered, “I’m sorry for today, as well.  I didn’t know what else to do to get you to see reason.  Know I only did what I did to avoid war.  For your sake and for the future of this kingdom.”

Thorin accepted that, knowing that the woman he’d found to love was perfect and unique and just for him.  She cared deeply for him and would go (had gone) to any length to see his sanity remained intact.  At least to the outside world.  But there was one thing that still weighed heavily on his mind.  “Tell me plainly.  Do… do we have…?”  His nervousness was twofold: that she would not be able to look past his gold-madness (that was not entirely _gone_ , but had less hold over him now he had _her_ and perhaps another gem to focus on), and that she hadn’t spoken the truth about the gem he’d given her.

Donnabelle gave him a small half smile and took a hold of his weathered hand.  She brought their joint hands to her stomach and pressed them over her womb.  “You may not be able to feel him yet, but you’ve given me this gem to protect.  And by Eru, I’m going to try.”

He looked down at their joint hands over her stomach before he brought his gaze back up to meet hers.  A smile that could light the whole of the mountain spread across Thorin’s face as he truly allowed her words to sink in.  Both of them had unshed tears in their eyes.  “Âkminrûk zu,” he managed to say just as the first of his tears spilt over and he dropped to his knees again.  He cradled her stomach with both his hands.  “Amrâlimê, âkminrûk zu.”  He brought his lips to her stomach kissed it gently through the fabric of _his_ clothing before burying his face in her stomach.  “Men lananubukhs menu mizimith,” he whispered and planted a second kiss over where their child was cradled.

Donnabelle smiled and moved her hand from his to thread through his hair.  He hummed appreciatively and turned his head to press his ear to her belly as if he was able to listen to their child’s heartbeat.  Her other hand moved down to trace along his jaw.  “I guess you’re happy then, my nungbâha,” she stated quietly.  All Thorin could do was nod against her and allowed her fingers to continue their soothing motions through his hair.  He wasn’t even going to protest the endearment.

Balin exited the room quietly and wasn’t surprised to find Dwalin, Fíli and Kíli outside trying to work out what was going on.  Looking at the two princes, Balin asked his brother, “Do you remember what Víli was like?”

Dwalin rolled his eyes but had a huge smile on his face.  “He was a sap.”

Balin returned the smile.  “And do you remember the look on Thorin’s face when he first held Fíli?”  Dwalin didn’t bother to reply.  Both had seen (and remembered) Thorin’s face when he held his tiny nephew for the first time.  It was a look the exiled prince hadn’t worn often and hadn’t had much cause to wear since Kíli’s birth.  “Well,” the older brother continued when he saw that Dwalin did remember, “expect that look on his face more often now.”

And both sons of Fundin grinned at each other.  After all, it wasn’t a bad thing to see a contented awe-filled look on their king’s face when there was a reason for it.  A promise of a child certainly was.

“What’s going on?” Kíli asked.

Fíli grinned and slung an arm over his younger brother’s shoulders.  “They’re saying Uncle’s going to be a sap around Aunt Belle because she’s pregnant.”

Kíli’s face lit up at that.  “We’re getting a cousin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdul used in this chapter**  
>  “Imad” translates as “aunt”  
> “Idad” translates as “uncle”  
> “Bunmul” translates as “beauty of all beauty”  
> “Khuzd tada bijebî âysîthi mud oshmâkhî dhi zurkur ughvashâhu” translates as “A dwarf that chooses to take a wife must guard her as his greatest treasure” (thank you Calenithlon especially for this one)  
> “Âkminrûk zu” translates as “it would please me to give you thanks” (which carries more meaning in the Dwarven culture than a simple 'thank you', thanks again Calenithlon)  
> “Amrâlimê” translates as “my love”  
> “Men lananubukhs menu mizimith” translates as “I love you, little gem.”  
> “Nungbâha” translates as “lovable idiot”


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Peace Talks and the arrival of Dain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Westron” (Common tongue)  
>  **~Khuzdul~** (Dwarvish spoken language)

Peace talks between the dwarves of Erebor, the men of Lake-town and the elves of the Woodland realm began.  Thorin was dressed in all of the finery of the king under the mountain, but only wore the bare minimum of accessories.  In the three days that Donnabelle had asked for before the settlement talks began, Thorin had not once entered the treasure horde of Thrór.  He gave the other dwarves instructions to see that everything was sorted out and give him a list of what was available to offer.

The Arkenstone itself was never found in the chambers.  When Donnabelle brought it up and asked what would be done about it if it were ever found, Thorin turned to look at her and gave her a tight smile.

“Keep it.  Don’t ever show it to me, but I want you to keep it.  It’s the heart of the mountain, and it belongs to you.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and she asked, “How do you know I’ve got it?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”  Thorin paused and looked his wife over.  “Actually, when you get a chance, put the Arkenstone back in the heart of the mountain.  And don’t tell anyone where you put it.”  Donnabelle nodded and took Thorin’s hand.  He squeezed her hand and gave her a tender smile before he remembered something else he’d found amongst the treasure horde.  “That reminds me.  Once we’re done with the talks, I have something else for you.”

“What?”

He cupped her face and leaned his forehead against hers.  “A mithril coat.  For your protection when I’m not there.”  When he saw that she was about to protest, he pleaded, “I’m serious, agyâdê.  For my peace of mind?”

She bit the inside of her lip and nodded.  “Okay.”  He gave her a small smile and led them down from the main gate of Erebor.

The two of them, along with Balin, Glóin and Ori went to meet with the delegations from Dale and the Woodland realm.  The elves had arranged a meeting tent for them and were waiting for them there.  Bard arrived at the same time as the dwarves, along with four of the prominent leaders of the Lake-town survivors.  And to their surprise, Gandalf was also waiting with the elves.

“You look remarkably well, Thorin,” Gandalf commented as the dwarves and men sat in their delegated spots.

Thorin glowered slightly.  “I do have something more pressing than gold to occupy my mind, Tharkûn.  Shall we begin?”  He stole a glance at the door where Donnabelle stood and listened.  She gave him a small nod and indicated that he should get the meeting underway.  Raising an eyebrow, he turned his attention to the others at the table.  “We have come together today to find a solution to the destruction and desolation Smaug has brought upon this land.  The Dwarves of Erebor are willing to work at this so that it does not come to war.”

“So will we,” Bard agreed.

“As will the Woodland Realm,” Legolas added.

Thorin gave the delegates at the table a tight smile and began with the payment to the elves.  “For payment of your help in freeing us and the supplies you gave us, what is it that Legolas of the Woodland Realm asks of the Dwarves of Erebor?”

Legolas swallowed and began, thinking of the threat Donnabelle had given him while the dwarves were still prisoners of his father.  “I know I have little claim on the mountain, Thorin son of Thráin, yet I must ask for the jewellery set my father commissioned from your craft smiths over 175 years ago.  That set has no value to us bar an heirloom of our people.  It was a gift my father had made in memory of my mother.  We would appreciate it if we could receive these jewels in honour of the dead.”

Thorin looked toward Balin and Glóin, and both nodded.  Turning back to the elf-prince, “It may take us a while to find that exact set, but when it is found, know that it is yours.  In the meantime, we have another boon to ask of the Woodland Realm.”

The elf prince raised an eyebrow.  “And what is it that the King under the Mountain would ask of the Elves?”

“Know that I am asking this, not for my sake, but for the sake of my people, and the people of Lake-town.  We will need supplies to get through the worst of the winter.  I may not like elves, and for good reason, but I have learnt that one must put aside grudges for doing what is best for the people.”  Thorin paused and cleared his throat.  “In exchange for food and supplies, of what you are willing to part with, we have a down payment.”  He indicated to Glóin, who slid a small chest of gold (with perhaps a small package of lasgalen gems.  The red-headed elf captain reached for the chest and opened it.  Her only show of surprise was the slight raising of her eyebrows.  She opened the small pouch of gems and looked at the prince.  Both accepted that the chest and gems were enough to see that the goodwill of the dwarves was not misplaced.

“You are being remarkably level-headed in all of this,” Gandalf stated as he, too, looked over the chest of gold.

The dark-haired King under the Mountain looked down his nose at the wizard.  “As I have said, I have more than just my pride to think about.  I do not like or trust elves, but even they must know my people need to eat.  Now be quite and let us discuss further settlement.”  Thorin turned to look back at Legolas.  “Does the Woodland Realm have anything further they require of us in payment of food during the winter for both the men of the Lake and for the dwarves of Erebor?”

Legolas and Tauriel turned toward each other and started speaking in Sindarin.  They both looked over the chest of gold and pouch of precious gems.  It took them a few minutes before they returned their attention back to the dwarves.  “For now, no.  As long as we obtain the necklace that we have requested.”

Thorin nodded in agreement.  “The pact that you made with the hobbit, Bilbo, still stands.”

“Granted.  I will act as the ambassador between our two peoples if it is through him or a member of the royal house of Erebor,” Legolas responded.  The blond elf looked around the tent and asked, “Where is Bilbo?  I thought the halfling would be interested in these talks.”

And the four dwarves stood to their feet at the insult to their hobbit.  They were angry, yet the angriest was Thorin.  Legolas looked appalled at the slip he’d made; he’d known that the hobbit had asked him _(politely)_ not to call anyone from the Shire a ‘halfling’ unless they gave permission.  “I am sorry,” the princeling responded instantly.  “I know that term is insulting.”

Thorin growled low in his throat, but the dwarves returned to their seats.

“We accept the apology on Bilbo’s behalf,” Balin said. 

Thorin looked as if he did not agree with his advisor, but he did not refute the acceptance.  He added to Balin’s acceptance, “If you ever do it again, our trade with the Woodland Realm is null and void.  And… your deal with the hobbit is off.”  Legolas paled slightly.  Balin raised an eyebrow slightly toward the door but quickly schooled his features into a neutral expression and looked back at the men sitting at the conference table.  Whatever the hobbit had on the elf princeling must be something mighty big to get the elf paler than normal.

Gandalf felt his jaw drop slightly.  Never before in all of his dealings with dwarves had things gone so smoothly between two opposing races.  But he was unable to voice his surprise when the dwarves ignored him and turned to the men. 

“What would the men of the Lake ask of the dwarves?”

“Gold enough to rebuild our lives,” one of the men asked and Balin frowned slightly.

There was a moment pause before the dwarven advisor asked, “Gold enough for the people, or for you to line your pockets with?”  When the man didn’t respond to Balin’s query, the white-haired dwarf gave him a tight smile.  “You want it to line your pockets and that is not something we will be doing.  We are here to discuss things that will _benefit_ the people, not the individual.”

“Balin is right,” Thorin added and addressed his next question to Bard.  “What do the people need?”

“Food and supplies; shelter for the women, children and elderly.  Those are our most pressing needs for the coming winter.”

“We have also come to the same conclusion,” Thorin said.  “That is why I asked the elves for food enough to feed my people and yours.”  The dwarven leader looked toward Glóin and nodded to the red-headed dwarf.

Glóin turned to Bard and continued, “In the offer of shelter for the people of Lake-town, we will require your abled bodied men to help us clear and make habitable the upper halls.  The women, children and elderly can help with meals and keeping the fires lit: small tasks that are fitting for their strength.  We will offer in return your share of the provisions provided by the elves and a place to shelter throughout the coming winter.”

“Provided you stick to the areas we deem safe,” Balin added.  “It _is_ our home and one could easily get lost in a weak tunnel that could collapse at any given moment.”

“And there will be no talk of gold exchanging hands until next spring when we have helped each other through the coming months,” Thorin concluded.  “You will _not_ be able to enter the treasury of Thrór.”

Bard was shocked at the generosity of the dwarves.  After his discussion with the dwarven leader at the gates of Erebor three days previously, he thought that the people of Lake-town would not get as much from the dwarves as they were offering.  “I am curious: three days ago I thought that we would not come to terms this quickly, or get what we require for the winter so easily.  Why are you offering all of this without so much of a generous reward for yourselves?”

Thorin offered Bard a small understanding smile.  “Right now, you don’t see the profit that can be had if we help you.  But we are doing this, not just for the people of Lake-town that were left homeless because of Smaug, but our future in the mountain.  We need the help and good will of both our neighbours.  Most say dwarves are greedy and care little for the outside world and for other races.  And that is true, for the most part.  We care little for others because they care little for us.  Ten months ago, I was very much like one those dwarves who cared little for the world of men, or for elves.

“Since then, I have learnt a lot about life from the most unlikely of places: from a hobbit who has lost so much in such a short period of time.  They had their homeland, childhood and family taken forcibly from them for the greed of others; even my own.  Other races did not care for the hobbit’s suffering, and perhaps if things had been different, I would not have met them.  They would not have felt compelled to leave their homeland, friends or what little family they had left to come east once more if Tharkûn hadn’t pushed me in their direction.  My life would not have much joy or hope in it if my hobbit had let bitterness and anger rule her life and hadn’t been able to show me there was another way.

“She is still able to see past the hate, anger and suffering others – men, elves _and_ dwarves – have placed her under to see the world in a positive way.  She told me this morning that there is still some good in this world and that is far more precious than all the riches of Erebor.  My hobbit will never forget, but she is learning to forgive.”

And Donnabelle, hidden at the door, felt tears streaming down her face.  She knew that the words were not spoken for her sake but for everyone else in the room, and _that_ made the words all the more dear to her.  Most sitting at the table were also without dry eyes at Thorin’s sincere words about the small lass who had taught him to see beyond his blind ambition.  “I want to live by her example.  I want to try to live beyond the hurt and the pain of the past and look for a better future for everyone.”

“Where is the hobbit?” Gandalf asked.

“Where she’s been for this entire conversation,” Thorin replied.  “And that is all you need to know.”

Gandalf nodded in acceptance of that and felt overwhelmed at the example of the hobbit lass that he had ‘forced’ on the journey so many months before.  He had never expected her to have such a profound influence over the dwarven king or over his entire company if Balin, Glóin or Ori’s reactions were anything to go by.

The meeting was adjourned not long afterward, after some of the finer details were worked through.  Each person in that meeting tent thought long and hard over the example one small hobbit had on the dwarves, and wished wholeheartedly (at least all but one or two of the men) to meet her at least once in their lives.

**THTHTHTH**

Dáin Ironfoot and his 500 armed dwarves arrived a week after the initial settlement between the three races.  Most of the elves were not welcomed within the stone halls of Erebor itself.  They knew that it wasn’t a slight against them: relations between dwarves and elves needed longer than one meeting to heal.  Legolas had promised the dwarves that the elves were only staying to protect Dale and the outer walls of Erebor until the dwarves of the Iron Hills arrived and could take over the duties.  After all, Thorin’s company only numbered thirteen (fourteen if they included Donnabelle), and most of the survivors from Lake-town were elderly, women or children.  Those men that did survive Smaug’s attack were not warriors but fishermen.

When Dáin was announced into Thorin’s meeting chamber (the throne room was out because of the damage Smaug had caused), the Lord of the Iron Hills was shocked at the sight that greeted him.  Thorin was in a discussion with the two sons of Fundin.  Dwalin, Dáin knew, was never far from Thorin’s side so there was no surprise there.  Neither was Balin’s presence.  What _was_ uncommon, and what made Dáin pause (if ever so slightly) were the beads and braid proudly adorning Thorin’s left temple and the short woman at his left-hand side adoring a similar braid (though different beads).

She was the first to look up from the discussion and Dáin was struck at how piercing her blue-grey eyes were and how _old_ they seemed for someone so _young_.  Thorin placed his quill down and ran a hand over his face before he leaned back.  Dáin watched as the woman at his cousin’s side quietly lay her left hand over his bicep.  Thorin turned to look down at her with – by _Mahal_ – a tender smile on his face.  It was only then that the new King under the Mountain looked in Dáin’s direction.

“Dáin!” Thorin greeted and stood.  Moving around the table, the Mountain King hugged his cousin in greeting.

“Good to see you in one piece, cousin.  You managed to find yourself a wife,” Dáin teased, though the Lord of the Iron Hills wondered who had the guts to marry his cousin.

“I did,” the older cousin returned.

“By Durin, it took you long enough.”  Thorin’s face grew serious at the teasing his cousin was doing and the younger dwarf lord stopped.  Dáin frowned.  “What?”

“Do not tease her, Dáin.  She’s been through enough as is.”

“Thorin, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt after traveling with you lot;” Donnabelle joined the conversation and her husband’s side; “is that the Line of Durin loves to tease me.  You would think I got enough of it from Frérin.”  The hobbit rolled her eyes good-naturedly and gave a small smile in Dáin’s direction.  “You must be Lord Ironfoot from the Iron Hills.”

Dáin gave a brief bow and schooled his shock at the distinctly _non-_ dwarf at Thorin’s side behind a mask of neutrality.  “Dáin, son of Náin, at your service.”

“Donnabelle Baggins, at yours.”

“May I enquire how you know of Frérin, Lady Donnabelle?  My cousin died 142 years ago, and I would venture a guess you have not yet reached 100.”

The hobbit raised an eyebrow.  “You are right, I am not 100.  Hobbits rarely live past that.  I turned 40 on my last birthday.”  Thorin raised an eyebrow in question.  “My birthday was while we were in Lake-town,” she answered before she returned her attention back to Dáin.  “And Frérin… died 18 years ago to protect me.”

Thorin wrapped his arm around Donnabelle’s waist.  “Frérin survived Azanulbizar.  Leave it at that.”  He didn’t notice that he started stroking the side of her stomach, as it was his habit ever since he’d been told of his impending fatherhood.  But Dáin did.  “It’s good that you’re here.  We’re going to need your help defending this mountain.  Thrakûn states that the orcs of Dol Guldur are on their way.”

The Lord of the Iron Hills nodded once, looked between the couple and frowned.  **~Tell me, cousin.  Is the Shire-rat pregnant?~**  Dwalin had to be restrained by Balin at that comment.  Thorin set his jaw and he would have punched Dáin if his wife hadn’t been at his side.  He nearly did anyway but for the fact that Donnabelle took one of his balled hand and covered it with hers (as much as she could).  He allowed his hand to relax and threaded his fingers through hers.

“Yes, she is,” Donnabelle responded with a low growl.  Thorin, Dwalin and Balin were surprised at the amount of venom lacing her voice.  Dáin backed away from the furious little hobbit.  “And yes, she can understand you.”  Her eyes hardened as she spat, **~So don’t ever call me a Shire-rat again!~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Agyâdê” translates as ‘my happiness’  
> Tharkûn is the dwarrow name for Gandalf.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle commences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The verse in this is something my dear Mellon, Calenithlon, gave me to help me pass my writer’s block. Hope you guys don’t hate me by the end of this chapter…
> 
> Donnabelle is about 8 to 10 weeks pregnant in this chapter as a pregnancy is counted from the end of the last menstruation before pregnancy. Her last cycle was in the Woodland Realm (which was in mid to late August) and the battle takes place toward the end of October.

After Dáin’s arrival, the men and dwarves began their battle plans.  Donnabelle, sensing that she wasn’t needed by her husband throughout the planning stages, slipped out of the mountain with Nori and Bifur.  She was going to pursue another avenue for the upcoming battle.  If Thorin knew of her plans, he would have stopped her from leaving the mountain itself.  Though she didn’t think she would be able to persuade the elves to stay and fight, she was still going to try.  To her, the past between her dwarves and the Woodland elves did not matter to her.  All that mattered was the protection and preserving of her family.

So it was with great reluctance that Nori and Bifur went with her when she tried to persuade the elves to stay.  Both dwarves knew that Thorin would castrate them if they had allowed her to go on her own.  Somehow, the three of them managed to get quite a fair distance into the elf camp before they were stopped by Tauriel.  She took them before King Thranduil.

The elven king looked over the three visitors brought before him.  The two dwarves he recognised from the company of Thorin Oakenshield, but the third he didn’t know.  He took a guess that it would be the hobbit that had also been in his custody around the same time as the dwarves.  “So, what would the King under the Mountain want that he would send his puppet to come to me?” Thranduil asked, looking the small hobbit over.  He didn’t recognise her, as he hadn’t gone to her cell while she’d been in his custody.  And even if he had, he would not have recognised her anyway: she was dressed in a thick tunic and breaches that were tucked into fur lined boots.  Over the top of it all, she wore a dwarven fur lined coat.  Attached to her hip was Sting.  She looked like a fierce dwarrow warrior, but without a beard.

“Thorin does not know I am here, Thranduil,” Donnabelle snapped.  “Nor am I his puppet.  I came to ask that you and your elves stay and fight in the battle that is to come.”

“Fight against the dwarves?” the elven king asked with a raised eyebrow.  He did not think much of Gandalf’s warning that an army of orcs was marching upon the mountain.  “Gladly.  Yet I can guess that is not the battle that you are referring to.”

“No,” the hobbit responded.  She frowned slightly.  “Can you not feel it?” she asked.  There was one thing that she had learnt as a slave and had kept throughout her adult life and that was to trust her instincts.  Especially when those instincts were screaming at her that something bad was about to happen.  She’d learnt the hard way what happened when she ignored her survival instincts over doing the ‘right’ thing when it came to her master’s romantic life.  The incident with the roses was prominent in her mind; at first, she thought she would only suffer a good sound tongue-lashing from Frérin but the following morning after she’d presented the elven orange roses to her master’s love, she still felt uneasy.  For good reason: the master had had her beaten a full day after she’d made the ‘mistake’ of buying the wrong roses.

Her instincts were warning her of the same now:  she knew somehow, something was going to go wrong.  Turning to the two dwarves with her, she looked them straight in the eye.  “Nori, Bifur.  Go and tell Thorin the armies will be here today.”  The two dwarves looked her over with uncertain looks on their faces, and Donnabelle added, “I’ll be fine.  I’ll be back in the mountain before the battle will begin.”  Bifur jumped to obey, yet Nori was a little more reluctant to leave.  But soon both dwarves left to head back to the mountain, leaving Donnabelle in the company of elves.

Thranduil was surprised that the dwarves obeyed someone not of their kin.  And he was more surprised that Donnabelle seemingly left herself unprotected in the hands of the elves.  “Some would say that was not the wisest move on your part, halfling.”

The diminutive woman turned and stared darkly at the elf lord.  “There are others that will deem it unwise to mess with me when it comes to protecting my dwarves,” Donnabelle shot back.  “No matter what you threaten me with, elf king, you do not frighten me.  Azog and his armies are marching on this mountain and we need your help.  Will you not stand and fight?”

Thranduil stood and did not consider the small woman’s pleading.  It was not his fight.  If the dwarves marched to war, so be it.  He would not stand by and watch.  Looking at his son, the elf king commanded, “Prepare to move out.  I will not see elf blood spilt this day.”

Donnabelle’s eyes hardened.  What came out of her mouth next was not something any of the elves expected.  They did not think the small hobbit actually knew and spoke Sindarin or even knew an Elvish lament.

 

_“Naur vi eryn,_

_Lanc i dalaf._

_Mathach vi geven?_

_Nostach vi ‘wilith?_

_Mâb le i nagor,_

_Bâd gurth vi ngalad firiel._

_Dorthach vi mar han?_

_Dagrathach go hain?_

_The woods are burning,_

_The ground lies bare._

_Do you feel it in the earth?_

_Can you smell it in the air?_

_The war is upon you,_

_Death moves in the fading light._

_Are you part of this world?_

_Will you join their fight?”_

Thranduil turned on his heel to face the hobbit once more.  He loomed over her but she did not back down.  “Are you not part of this world?” she asked again.  “Will you join their fight?  Prove to the world that Thranduil is a wise leader that will lead his people against the armies of hell!”

“This is not our fight,” Thranduil snarled at the hobbit.

“It is our fight!” Legolas responded, stepping in front of the lass.  “Ada, she is right.  Are we not part of this world?  Why do you refuse to fight?”

“Because I lost my wife!” the elvish king cried.  The five people within the tent (Thranduil, Legolas, Donnabelle and two elven guards) looked between each other at the king’s admittance.  None of them were able to continue the conversation when they felt the earth move.

The orcs were upon them, and holding a council no longer mattered.  Thranduil and his elves leapt to their feet and out into the open air, leaving Donnabelle alone in the elf king’s tent.  Soon, she could hear the armies of men, elves and dwarves join together to face off against Azog and his orcs.

**THTHTHTH**

From her vantage point north of Dale and due south of Ravenhill, Donnabelle could see that the battle was not going well for her allies.  The orc numbers were too numerous to count.  They were too organised.  She swallowed hard as she spotted Thorin, Dwalin and the rest of her ‘boys’ fighting amongst the dwarves and against the overwhelming tide of the orcs.

Her attention was drawn up to Ravenhill, a little to her north, and to where Azog the Defiler stood to direct his troops.  Then she looked back down at the battlefield.  If something was not done about Azog, soon she knew the men, elves and dwarves would be overrun and there would be no hope of survival for any of them.  Even for her and the little one she carried.

So she made the only choice that had a chance of working: she decided to take on the Pale Orc herself.  She knew it wasn’t the wisest choice, not while she was pregnant or any other time.  But what else _could_ she honestly do?  She wasn’t one for sitting back while others fought for her safety.  Frérin would have wanted her to stay out of the battle, yet he also knew that she wouldn’t.  It was why he had taught her to the best of his abilities in the two years between them gaining their freedom and his untimely death.  And if she truly thought about it, Frérin would be right there beside her, fighting their way up to Ravenhill.  He would do anything to protect his family – and he had even died protecting her.  So she couldn’t ask herself to do anything less than that.  She would take on anything and anyone in the protection of her family.  Oh, Thorin would _not_ be happy about her decision, yet she couldn’t bring herself to care if it meant that he lived.

**THTHTHTH**

Thorin looked around the battlefield.  He and his company had been fighting for what felt like hours and yet the onslaught kept coming.  There were too many orcs for the dwarves, men and elves to truly handle or even hope to defeat.  He was glad when the elves had joined the battle against the orcs and yet even with their aid, the dwarves and men knew they would not last.  They would all die at the hands of Azog’s unstoppable force.

That was when Dáin called out and directed his attention to Ravenhill and Azog’s position overlooking the battle.  “Did you send anyone up Ravenhill, cousin?” Dáin asked.

“No.”  The King under the Mountain looked around his immediate vicinity yet he knew it would do no good.  He was not sure who was missing or where any of his company were.  Each was off fighting their own battles and he hoped that each of them survived the end of the day.

“Well, somebody has the right idea.  They’ve gone after Azog,” Dáin said, nodding in the Pale Orc’s direction.

“But who?” Thorin responded as he followed Dáin’s gaze once more to Ravenhill.  Then, it was only then, that the old dwarf felt every one of his 195 years and dread filled his heart.  Donnabelle, the brave, sweet hobbit, had not been within the Mountain when the orcs had arrived.  Nori and Bifur said she’d been in discussions with the pointy-eared princess.

And, if he remembered rightly, she had sent them back to the Mountain with the news that the orcs were near.  Which, by rights, left her alone with the elves.  Mahal, his wife was out there somewhere alone.  Thorin couldn’t think of what had happened to her since the battle had started.  Had he seen her return to the mountain?  What had happened to his wife?

His eyes fell on the small figure that was making their way up to Ravenhill.  He couldn’t make out whom it was, but it didn’t matter.  Because in his heart, he was sure that the small figure was one little, fragile, _pregnant_ hobbit.  And he knew he could not (did not want to) fight the urge to get up to the lookout as quickly as possible.  Dwalin was at Thorin’s side in an instant, having also thought of whom the most like person was climbing up to Ravenhill.  Fíli, Kíli and Balin were also there, ready to help in whatever way they could.

Thorin turned to Dáin with a grim expression on his face.  “We’re going to help cut the head off the snake,” he growled, hoping beyond hope that they would arrive on Ravenhill in time.

“Good luck, cousin,” Dáin responded as the five warriors made their way through the orc army on the back of goats.

Thorin and Dáin were not the only ones who spotted the small, almost hidden, figure climbing up to Azog’s position overlooking the battle.  Gandalf, too, had spotted the dwarven sized figure, as did Bard and Thranduil.  It was then that they heard another far-off horn sound from the direction of Ravenhill before bats then descended from the heavens.  All three paled – man, elf and Istari.  They knew then that unless something happened soon to change the tide of the war, none of the allied peoples with Erebor would live to see another sunrise for they knew the horn and bats signalled another army of orcs was approaching.

**THTHTHTH**

Thorin felt it in his heart when they got to Ravenhill it was far too late.  The small figure they’d seen climbing the hill would have long been thrown aside and killed.  What could one small hobbit do against an army of orcs?  She had barely stood against Azog alone just after the Misty Mountains.

“It’s quite,” Kíli said.

“Far too quiet,” Dwalin agreed.  “Where is that piece of filth?”

Thorin looked at the two of them and Fíli.  “More importantly, where is Donnabelle?”

The four of them began looking through the lower levels of the tower Azog had erected his signalling flags on.

Fíli found the first of the slain orcs with a deep slice across the throat.  Kíli stumbled over the next body and Dwalin found the third.  The two that Dwalin and Kíli found had their femoral arteries sliced with two quick, quiet blows; a fatal wound Dwalin knew was taught to assassins.  And the dwarves guessed would be at the right height for Donnabelle to execute well on orcs, who were nearly double her height.  Thorin looked up from a fourth.  From the wounds on the bodies, it appeared that none of the orcs were expecting the small hobbit.

Maybe, perhaps maybe, Donnabelle was still alive.  Thorin had to have hope.  Dwalin didn’t want to doubt it either.  After all, there had only been two orcs on the hill with Azog and from what the dwarves could tell, the orcs hadn’t seen or noticed Donnabelle climbing up to their position.  The five dwarves lifted their gaze up from a fifth body as the sound of a war horn sounded from the North.

“There’s another army coming,” Dwalin guessed.

“We can’t stay here,” Balin added.

“We’ll be overrun,” Thorin agreed, though he hated to admit it.  “We need to get out in the open and stick together.  If Donnabelle is alive, we cannot help her if we remain.”

“Are you certain, Uncle?” Fíli asked.

Thorin held his stance.  “We live to fight another day.”  But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to leave Ravenhill and the one he loved to her fate.  Balin, Dwalin, Fíli and Kíli tried to get their king leave, yet they too were reluctant to leave.  They also wanted to know what became of the hobbit they loved.

Their escape was cut off as they lingered too long over the bodies they found.  And soon, they were surrounded by goblin mercenaries.  They began fighting for their lives once more, always making sure they looked out for one another’s backs.  It took them a long while to figure out that there would be no escape for them off Ravenhill without some sort of intervention.

**THTHTHTH**

Azog bore down over the small creature that dared stand against him.  They were still on the hilltop overlooking the valley but it was just the two of them up on the hill: Azog and Donnabelle.  He pulled back and bared his teeth.  Hadn’t he already killed the second son of Thráin?  But the dwarf in front of him looked remarkably like another dwarf he’d fought the last time he had two complete arms.  The hobbit smirked at him (which didn’t really make sense for a creature that small to not be afraid of him).

“Did you misplace something?” Donnabelle asked and ducked around a tree.  Azog growled low in his throat again.  The small dwarf was becoming bothersome.  The orc stopped when he next saw the small being that had challenged him.  It wasn’t a dwarf.  “Azog, the defiler, you will have to do better than that,” Donnabelle taunted.

“Who are you?” Azog demanded.

“Tut tut!  What would your mother think if she could hear you now?” the hobbit called out in a sing-songy voice, daring Azog to follow her.  He did.  And when he got his first good look at the hobbit, he realised that he did know the small creature.  It was the same hobbit that had stood between him and his prey just this side of the Misty Mountains.

“You!” he growled.

“Me,” Donnabelle admitted with a smile and darted out from his next swing.  She led him on a merry chase.  She would have managed to outwit him if she hadn’t tripped over a root to land on the hard ground just about the frozen river.

Azog bore down on the small creature.  His anger was boiling just below the surface.  If it hadn’t been for the hobbit lying prone in front of him, his challenge on Erebor would be complete.  There were none that could really stand in his way.  The Dol Guldur army had been busy slaughtering the elves, men and dwarves in the valley below.  The second army, coming from the north and Gundabad, would sweep in and wipe out the remaining survivors.  None shall live against the might of the Master.

“You will never win,” Donnabelle whispered with more bravado than she felt.  “The dwarves of Erebor will never bow to the orcs.”

“Oh, I don’t intend for them to serve the Master,” Azog snarled.  “I intend to wipe out every last dwarf from Erebor and from the line of Durin.  Starting with those two snivelling nephews of Thorin, son of Thráin.  Then with Oakenshield himself!”

Donnabelle shifted backwards, away from the sheer drop toward the river, trying to find the handle of Sting.  “That would not wipe the line of Durin out!” she defiantly returned.  But the young woman never once raised her voice at Azog.  It was something she’d learnt when she had returned to the Shire: one can manipulate any situation their benefit if they kept their voices calm and level.  It had taken her many years to learn the skill and still she failed often when she was faced with close friends or family.

Azog paused in his advance and frowned.  The hobbit somehow knew that if he killed the three heirs to the Mountain that there would be another Durin to take their place.  That would only happen if there were another Durin child… his eyes widened and flicked downward and to Donnabelle’s womb.  It was then that the Pale Orc smirked.  “After I have killed the dwarves you long to protect, I will kill you and the one that you carry.”

“You should know one thing about me before you do that,” Donnabelle said.  When she saw that the orc was listening, she swung her little letter opener up with all her might.  Azog blocked the attack with his arm that was also a sword.  She rolled and jumped to her booted feet.

“And what is that, little Shire Rat?”

“You never threaten a mother bear when she’s protecting her cubs.  And I am much more than a mother bear.”  The hobbit struck at Azog again and again; the Pale Orc blocked her every blow.  Yet he was frightened at the speed and power the little thing was placing behind her blows.  How was it the tiny creature in front of him had the strength to deliver the powerful blows she was?  He was barely able to defend himself against her attacks.

The Pale Orc snarled and threw her next blow off and away.  He then attacked her cleanly.  High blows and ones for him that were low.  For Donnabelle, they were blows that she could easily deflect, or had to put some power behind to block the ones coming to her face.  Azog smirked again when he realised that the small thing only had so much energy and she had already spent most of it getting herself out from the edge of the drop to the river below.  By doing that, she’d found herself against another wall.  This time, it was the watchtower she had first cornered him in.  And he knew that she had nowhere to go.  There was no one there to protect her or to save her.  He swung his mace at her and the hobbit rolled out of the way.  Another blow caused her to duck and roll again, seeking shelter within the watchtower itself.  She was slower with her second dodge.  Azog’s smirk grew.  He could defeat this Shire Rat and… yes, he could kill her knowing that her attempted ‘noble’ sacrifice to save her family had come to nothing.  Mother bear indeed.

He followed after her into the watchtower and drove her to the ground.  It wasn’t long before he had her on her back once more.  But this time, she held onto her sword.  When he drove his left arm down, she blocked the sword blow horizontally across her chest.  Azog’s war blade and left arm were pressing down on that small little blade that was inches away from piercing Donnabelle’s chest.

“Know this, Shire Rat: die in the knowledge your sacrifice here and now will mean… nothing!”

Donnabelle gave Azog one last knowing smile.  She hoped that the smile would bring the orc closer to her.  And it did.  The Pale Orc leant in over the small woman’s face.  “Know this, Azog the Defiler: your defiling days are done!” she hissed out in pain. 

Azog looked confused for a few moments before the hobbit moved her blade aside.  His left arm and bladed hand shot downward just as she shoved Sting upward and through his chest.  She withdrew her blade and shoved it upward again.  With what little strength she had left, Donnabelle pushed the Pale Orc off her and onto the stone passageway of the watchtower.  She followed her blade around and leant all her weight against her little letter opener, driving it further into the orc’s chest.  Her strength left her and she collapsed against Azog’s side before falling back down to the passageway beside him.  She did not notice the Arkenstone that she carried and guarded so closely slip from her breast pocket from where Azog had dislodged it with his final blow.

She _did_ notice the blood she coughed up though and the pain of a few cracked or broken ribs that caused breathing difficult.  And the cramping that spread from her lower back throughout her entire body.  She felt, more than saw, blood pooling beneath her.  A lot of it.  And she knew if she didn’t find help soon, it might be too late for her.


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of the Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to PJ and JRRT.
> 
> Huge thanks to Nikolai and Calenithlon for the actual translations from English to Khuzdul. My Khuzdul would not be as good without them! The verse in this is something my dear Mellon, Calenithlon, wrote based off some Tolkien writings and kindly allowed me to use. Don’t hate me by the end of this chapter… (Definite tissue warning)

Thorin looked up just as he saw the eagles fly overhead.  And by Mahal, was that Beorn with the eagles?  Perhaps they would survive this after all.  The onslaught of orcs from the north had dwindled on their position and the five dwarves had a chance to gather themselves before they were attacked again.  “Dwalin!” he called out and the burly warrior was at his back in an instant.  “Balin?”

The white-haired dwarf appeared behind him and asked, “Where are Fíli and Kíli?”

“We’re here, Balin,” the called and appeared from near an outcropping.

Thorin took a deep breath in and blew it out and he looked them over with a critical eye.  Once he assured himself of their safety and that they were relatively unscathed, the dwarven king looked around the area once more.  Dís would have had his hide if there was anything more than a scratch on them.  “Donnabelle?” he asked suddenly, looking back at his nephews, sword-brother and advisor.

“We haven’t seen her or Azog,” Fíli replied, moving to his uncle’s side.

“But the elf princeling took out Bolg,” Kíli added.

It was with that comment that the five dwarves were joined by said elf prince and the she-elf captain.  Thorin nodded at the two in thanks for their support.  “Come on, let’s search the area.  Azog must be up here somewhere.”  He didn’t add that he wished with all his heart Donnabelle was _not_ up there and somehow still alive.  But something in his gut was churning.  He had dread deep inside that he would find something he was _not_ going to like.

**THTHTHTH**

The battle was over not long after the eagles and Beorn arrived.  Then the clean-up began.  Nori made his way back to the main gate of Erebor and smiled when he saw his brothers there.  He rushed over to make sure they were both all right.

“Stop it!” Ori complained.  “Dori’s already checked me over.”

“Yeah?” Nori asked with a grin.  “So he didn’t notice you got your ear sliced open?”

“Well, he has now,” the youngest Ri brother grumped, pulling away from Dori’s fussing.  “Thanks for that, Nori.”

“He’s fine, Dori.  It’ll heal,” Nori said, turning his attention to the oldest brother.  “Or would you like us to fuss over you?  I notice the new cuts on your face.”  Dori pulled away from Ori, yet the three of them smiled slightly, relieved that they had all managed to survive the battle.  “Have you heard from anybody else?”

“Bofur, Bifur and Bombur were here just moments ago.  But…”

Nori closed his eyes.  That trail could only mean one of the company _didn’t_ survive the battle.  “Who?”

“Óin,” Ori replied.  “The others are with his body.”  Nori nodded slowly and felt his lower lip tremble.  Óin had been a good friend and an excellent healer.  When he next looked at his brothers, they knew he’d want to go to the body.  Dori and Ori led their brother to where their fallen companion was.

Nori looked around the five others that were gathered around Óin’s body and realised that not all of the company of Thorin Oakenshield were there.  “Where’s Thorin?” he asked quietly.  “Has anyone heard from them?”

Dáin, seeing the gathering of Thorin’s company around the body of the healer, moved to the company.  He heard the thief’s question and answered, “Haven’t heard a word from them since they went up Ravenhill.”

Nori set his jaw and his eyes fell on Óin’s still form.  Slowly, he approached Glóin and knelt beside the weeping dwarf, offering his quiet support.  The others followed his example.  They would get through this like every other time they faced challenges: as a family.  Albeit, they were a dysfunctional family and fought fiercely with each other.  But if any person outside their group dared challenge one of them, that person would be faced with more than one angry dwarf seeking retribution.

But the seven surviving members of Thorin’s company couldn’t grieve properly for their fallen brother when first Bifur spotted Balin coming toward them, and then Bombur spotted the white-haired dwarf.  Soon the others and Dáin noticed Balin coming toward them.  The company was happy to see the advisor had survived, but their joy quickly faded when they saw the dwarf’s bleak expression.

“Who?” Dáin asked.  Balin paused in front of the group and he felt a tear slip from his eyes.  “Not Thorin?”

The ageing dwarf shook his head and he opened his mouth.  But he couldn’t get words out passed the lump in his throat.  His eyes were drawn to the still face of his cousin.  Losing Óin on top of everything else that happened on Ravenhill was a little much for Balin to hold onto his composure.  He tried once more to speak, yet he couldn’t really explain all he wanted to.  What was he supposed to say about the selfless little hobbit that had given up _everything_ for the sake of a chance of reclaiming a home that wasn’t hers?  Who had fought so valiantly to see that Azog the Defiler stayed dead?  But in the end, he didn’t have to say a word to the company.  Thorin, Dwalin, Fíli and Kíli joined the rest of the company at the gate.  Each of them was silent and grim.

“No,” Bofur said quietly as he realised who _wasn’t_ with them.  “Not Donnabelle.”

Fíli and Kíli couldn’t bring themselves to look up at the rest of the company.  And with those two being extremely quite was telling to the rest of Thorin’s company.  They were _never_ silent.  They had never been afraid of looking anyone in the eye either.  The last time they’d been like that was after the death of their father.

The Ri brothers looked at each other and then over the five dwarves that had been up Ravenhill.  Perhaps they were mistaken and Donnabelle wasn’t really gone.  After all, there wasn’t a body and shouldn’t there have been a body if Donnabelle was truly dead?

All surviving members of Thorin’s company were drawn to their leader and the white knuckles of his hand that held the short elf-blade that belonged to Donnabelle.  The haunted look in the King under the Mountain’s eyes said it all.  There was no hope of the hobbit lass surviving whatever she’d faced on Ravenhill.

“Donnabelle?” Nori asked and the dwarf’s voice broke.

“She fought Azog,” Fíli responded.  His voice was a whisper and the others could hear it crack as he spoke.  “She faced the Defiler with just her small blade.”

“We found the letter opener embedded into the Pale Orc’s chest,” Kíli added.  He sounded like a lost teen on the verge of tears.  And one look at his face was all the company needed to see that he _was_ crying.

“And the Arkenstone in a pool of blood by the orc’s cold dead body,” Dwalin finished.  And the company was shocked at the roughness of the stoic warrior’s voice.  They should not have been surprised because they all knew how much the small hobbit had come to mean to the warrior.  How much she meant to all of them.  And if _Dwalin_ was barely holding it together, the news was not what any of them wished to hear.

The silence that fell over the company was broken when Dáin picked up on what Dwalin had said about the Arkenstone.  The Lord of the Iron Hills turned to glare at Thorin, not caring about the tears streaking down his cousin’s face.

“Your thief had the Arkenstone?” Dáin asked, outraged that the crowning jewel of Erebor’s great wealth had been in the possession of a non-dwarf.

Thorin narrowed his eyes and turned to face his cousin from the Iron Hills.  He did _not_ like the tone Ironfoot had used when talking about  _his_ hobbit and wife.  “Do you have a problem, cousin?” the dark-haired king asked.  His voice was cold and hard (but also had an undercurrent of pain to it) as he said, “My ‘thief’, as you so aptly named her, deserved that stone.  She was more than the thief that stole my heart.  She was my wife and _I_ gave the Arkenstone to her.”

The company knew that he hadn’t, and had been unaware that the hobbit actually had the stone in the first place.  They also knew their king was right.  If anyone deserved the Arkenstone, it would have been the person that held the heart of their king.  Thorin glared one last time at Dáin before he stalked off and into the mountain.  The company followed after their king, knowing that they would be back to take care of their dead.

Óin’s loss would be felt by all of them, and especially by Glóin.  But with Donnabelle’s death as well, they all knew that they would be feeling both of their friends’ deaths for months, if not years, to come.  None more so than Thorin.

Because, as Ori brought up later, the hardest part for them wasn’t the fact they had lost two very dear friends to them that day: Thorin had also lost the chance to meet his mizimith.  For they had all forgotten in the heat of the battle that Donnabelle’s death not only snuffed her life out but had also taken with her the child she carried.

**THTHTHTH**

The first week after the battle was a nightmare for all that were involved.  The dwarves of the mountain honoured Óin’s death and laid him to rest within the mountain itself.  The other dwarves who lost their lives in the battle were stripped of their weapons and armour before they were burned.  The men and elves dealt with their own dead while all of them piled the orcs together and burned the filth from all memory.  And as the company of Thorin Oakenshield scoured the battlefield in the clean-up, they found no sign of the little hobbit they loved.  They searched the tents of healing as well, yet did not recognise any of the wounded.  All they feared that was left of their burglar was the sword Thorin brought with him from Ravenhill and the Arkenstone they had found next to the Pale Orc’s body.  The elves soon returned to the Woodland Realm while the men of Dale and the dwarves turned to the mountain for the winter.

Their burglar was not found amongst the wounded and her body was never discovered.  Each member of the company found that the hardest thing to deal with.  They were not sure of her final fate and were unable to really put her to rest as they wanted to in the halls of the dead.  Two weeks after the end of the Battle, Thorin called the company together and led them down to the royal crypts.  He carried with him the small blade their hobbit had wielded in her final battle and had Dwalin bring the Arkenstone.  Fíli carried the blue baby blanket Donnabelle had bought back in Lake-town.  The others within the company had also brought a small memento of the hobbit lass they’d loved and lost.

Thorin stopped in front of the tombs of his forebears and drove Sting into the rock in front of them.  He stepped backward and allowed Fíli to place the folded baby blanket at the foot of the sword.  Then Dwalin laid the Arkenstone on top of the blanket itself.  Bofur and Bifur each placed a small carved toy with the stone.  Bombur had brought a ladle.  Ori attached the picture he’d drawn within Mirkwood to the sword.  Nori placed a set of his lock picks on the blanket.  Dori had knitted a pair of baby socks.  Glóin found Donnabelle’s pipe.  Kíli had made a flower crown out of the dried flowers Donnabelle had collected along their journey.  And Balin placed a bead right next to the Arkenstone and the two wooden toys.  On the bead was the ruins for ‘beloved sister and friend’.

Once Balin stepped back from the small pile of treasures that seemed inadequate to summarize their burglar’s life, Thorin began singing.  His voice was rough and cracked in places as he tried to hold back his tears.

 

_“Farewell, we call to hearth and hall!_

_Though wind may blow and rain may fall,_

_We must away ere break of day_

_Far over wood and mountain tall._

_Our foes are dead, behind us dread,_

_Beneath the sky shall be our bed,_

_Until at last our toil be passed,_

_Our journey done, our errand sped._

_We must away!  We must away!_

_We ride before the break of day!_

_Return at once to halls of stone,_

_Where Mahal calls the warriors home._

_Lay down your sword, your shield, your burden,_

_For the mountain is won,_

_But not the line of Durin._

_We must away!  We must away!_

_We ride before the break of day!_

_Farewell, we call to hearth and hall!_

_Do not weep for I did not fall._

 

The other dwarves joined in throughout the lament.  There was not a dry eye among them as they said a final farewell to their small, brave hobbit.  They all knew they would feel her loss, and the loss of Óin, for years to come.  Each and every one of them was desperately trying not to weep for her loss.  They knew that with Donnabelle’s death, the line of Thorin Oakenshield also ended.  There would be no sons of Durin born to him.  Thorin swallowed hard and he allowed a few tears to slip down his cheeks.  Yet he did not allow himself to break completely.  He would save that for when he was truly alone.  His eyes travelled over each of the items the company brought with them to remember Donnabelle, trying to commit each to his memory.

Just before the company began to head back to the surface, Thorin said quietly, “Sait ashrugal kurdu ig-gundul abadaz ablîk mahaziluh makyilhi kurdulz.”  _Here lies the heart under the mountain.  May her memory live on in the hearts of all._ The eleven other dwarves echoed their king’s second sentence, knowing that they would forever carry the memory of the brave hobbit within their hearts till their dying day.  Thorin paused at the entrance of the catacombs and waited for the other dwarves to leave.  Once he thought he was alone (Balin and Dwalin waited for their king a respectful distance away), he whispered, “Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal, amrâlimê **.** ”

The twelve dwarves that had journeyed together to reclaim Erebor with two others found it hard to move on after the clean-up was complete.  They turned to their own halls and began the long process of rebuilding Erebor to its former glory.  Donnabelle’s death hit them all in different ways.  Fíli and Kíli found it the hardest to move on after they came to love the small hobbit as an extra ‘mother’ and aunt, so they threw themselves into learning all they could about ruling a kingdom without dealing with the emotional trauma the battle had on them.  Bifur, Bofur and Bombur threw themselves into their respective trades: Bombur as the head chef of Erebor’s kitchens with Bifur and Bofur as toymakers and storytellers.  Dori fussed over the company that was left: especially Ori, Fíli and Kíli.  He also dedicated what free time he had to outfit each of the company with new cloaks that told of their tale.  Ori threw himself into his books and the library under the direction of Balin.  Nori wasn’t seen for weeks, setting up an elaborate spy network within the halls of Erebor.  If anything was worth knowing, Nori was the first to find out.  Balin worked as an advisor, note taker and general organiser each and every day until he was too tired to think of anything other than sleep.  Dwalin trained with the warriors under Dáin’s command that were wintering in Erebor’s halls.  Glóin, suffering from the keen loss of both his brother and the hobbit he had begun to see as a little sister, threw himself into organising the treasury.  At Thorin’s command, of course.

All of the company lent a hand to the restoration efforts of the mountain as well.  First to the living quarters and other main habitable places they needed and then to the mines.

The only one that did not seem affected by the deaths of Óin and Donnabelle was Thorin.  At least in the public eye.  He did not allow himself to break down in front of his subjects; he thought that it would be weak to show his emotions in front of _any_ body.  Those in the company knew him well enough that he’d only ever break down in front of three living souls: Balin, Dwalin or Dís.  The others he allowed himself close to and for him to truly show his grief to were all gone.  Balin and Dwalin were too busy with their own grief to see how much of a strain their king was under, or that Thorin did not have an outlet for his grief.  And Dís, well, she would be on her way from the Blue Mountains with the last caravan of the autumn (if all went well), nearly a full year away.

**THTHTHTH**

It was in the early parts of the late winter, two months after the Battle of the Five Armies, that rumours began to spread within Erebor.  No one was sure who started them.  The dwarves said that the stories came from the men while the men said the opposite.

Rumours told the tale of one courageous little hobbit and how she had been the driving force behind most of the quest.  When the tales began filtering back to the company that travelled with the lass, they could not deny that they had truth to them.  But not a single company member really remembered the times _they_ had spoken up in defence of their Donnabelle.  They were unaware they were being used to _start_ the rumours.

And the tales grew and spread, based solely on the truth of their journey and the loyal defence of the fourteenth member’s character done by the grieving company that was left behind.  The tales told of how the smallest member had hidden her true gender for the first few months of their journey based on knowledge that if the company really knew she had been a woman, they would have denied her a place amongst them.  That she found a family with each and every one of them, despite the fact they were from very different backgrounds and races.  How, despite having been a slave to men and elves, she still managed to forge an alliance with them for the future benefit of Erebor.

And as the stories spread and were added to, attitudes began to change.  Ever so slowly, the dwarves of Erebor learnt that there was more to other races than what had happened in the past.

Because if one small courageous child of the West could give up everything to see the dwarves reclaim their home and face her past while looking to the future, then shouldn’t they learn to look beyond the past?  Not forget it; never forget it, but try to forgive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:  
> “Mizimith” is “little gem.”  
> “Sait ashrugal kurdu ig-gundul abadaz ablîk mahaziluh makyilhi kurdulz” translates as “Here lies the heart under the mountain. May her memory live on in the hearts of all.” (Special thanks to my two translators for this, it was a challenge for them!)  
> “Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal” is “May we meet again with the grace of Mahal.”  
> “Amrâlimê” is “my love.”


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin wants to stop some rumours and Thorin's dealing with the aftermath of the Battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **~Khuzdul~**

Dwalin could not sit idly by once the rumour mill began.  Balin had stopped him from acting in the first four months, but the younger son of Fundin could no longer sit on what he thought was a slight on his sister’s good name at the end of the fifth month of rumours, seven months after the Battle.  He wanted to get to the source of all the rumours and stop them from spreading any more stories about his namadith.  It didn’t matter to him how much the stories were true.  All that mattered was that _some_ body was telling them and that was too much for him to handle after the deaths of his little sister and his cousin.

He knocked on Thorin’s private study within the Royal Wing of the mountain and waited for his king to bid him enter.  The bald dwarf entered the study and was surprised when he found that Thorin was not alone.  There was another dwarf, one that Dwalin did not recognise, who stood on the opposite side of the desk the King sat at.  The dwarf kept his gaze lowered as he politely nodded his leave.  Dwalin, when he had realised that Thorin had company, waited at the door for the meeting to finish and couldn’t quite hear the final words the strange dwarf said to Thorin or Thorin’s response.  But for some reason, he caught the slight smile that flashed across his king’s face.  The unknown dwarf gave the warrior a nod and quietly left the study.

If Dwalin had not known Thorin for so long, he would have missed the minor shift in the king’s facial features.  Taking one last look at the retreating dwarf with the oddly shaped ears, the warrior chose to ignore the exchange and the odd dwarf in favour of venting his real frustration to Thorin.  “My king, have you heard the rumours?  What the gossips are saying about Donnabelle?”

Thorin levelled his gaze at his long-time friend and nodded.  “Yes.  I was the one who gave permission for the rumours to begin.”

“We have to… wait.  You?”

“Is there a problem?”

Dwalin frowned and opened his mouth.  He closed it again before he formed the question he wanted to ask.  “Why?”

“Dáin’s attitude before the Battle and immediately afterwards showed me one thing.  Not many dwarves would be as accepting of my marriage to a hobbit as the company was.  It wouldn’t have mattered to them how much I love her or how much I would explain that she is my one.”

The bald dwarf blinked at that.  Dwalin did not miss the fact that Thorin was referring to Donnabelle in the present tense.  “And the rumours?”

“Are sent out to try and change the attitudes of the dwarves living in this mountain.  Tell me, do you think the dwarves would be more amenable toward having someone of a different race as Fíli’s consort, or less?”

“More,” Dwalin responded instantly.

Thorin nodded and then asked, “And if the consort were mine?”

Dwalin closed his eyes as he truly considered that.  Thorin was right.  Dwarves, especially the ones from the Blue Mountains and Iron Hills, had been far less accepting of outsiders before the Battle of the Five Armies.  Nearly seven months on from the battle, they were softer, more accepting of others.  And it was because of two things: the men of Lake-town who had sheltered, lived and worked amongst the dwarves during the winter within Erebor and the rumours that _Thorin_ had allowed to be spread about the deeds of one brave little Shireling.

The warrior opened his eyes suddenly and looked toward the door the other dwarf had disappeared through.  It only occurred to him now, minutes after _she_ had left who she actually was.  He turned to look at Thorin.  The king calmly raised an eyebrow at him.  Running a hand over his face, Dwalin covered his mouth.  When he looked back at Thorin with a question in his eyes, the regal dwarf nodded slowly.

“How?”

Thorin cocked his head to the side and Dwalin followed the tilt with his eyes.  Draped over one of the chairs was a mithril shirt.  The bald dwarf closed his eyes again as he let the news sink in and then they snapped open in a hard glare.

“You let us grieve for the past seven months?”

“She still hasn’t told me.”

“What?” Dwalin asked.

“She hasn’t told me,” Thorin repeated.  “I found the mithril five weeks after the battle.  Here in my chambers.  I thought nothing of it.  Until Kíli joined me one night because of a ‘nightmare’.” 

“But Kíli wouldn’t come to you, unless it was with Fíli.”

“Exactly.”  The king looked away from his friend as a slight pinking rose in his cheeks.  “One or two nights a week since then I’ve had company.  Either because she needs reassurance, or I do.”

And it was only then that Dwalin truly looked at his king for the first time in months.  Thorin wasn’t looking in his direction so the warrior took his time in actually studying the monarch.  There was more silver threading through the king’s jet black hair and extra lines lining his forehead and eyes.  It seemed that Thorin’s face was set in a permanent scowl, yet Dwalin knew it was only out of worry for the kingdom.  Thorin’s crystalline blue eyes were etched with worry, concern and an underlining deep sadness that the warrior hadn’t bothered to notice over the last few months. 

The dwarf king rarely smiled anymore, either.  He did not smile even when he had been especially proud of Fíli or Kíli.  Those two younglings had been the main ones that had made Thorin smile in the past; yet since the loss of Donnabelle, not even they could bring their uncle back to the strict, but loving, monarch Dwalin knew the dwarf to be.  After they had reclaimed the mountain, Dwalin thought that Thorin would allow his beard to grow once more.  Yet the king had not.  He had kept it relatively short in morning.  Dwalin could guess the reason: Thorin was morning the loss of his One and the child they had created.

Thorin bit back a sob that was trying to escape, and Dwalin only then picked up on the tears that were spilling over the man’s cheeks.  Dwalin looked away from his king, wondering what he was to say.  The bald warrior had rarely seen Thorin break down under the strain and weight of ruling. Yet he knew the last seven months had been the hardest in all their years together.  Harder than the many years they had spent on the road after they lost Erebor to begin with, or the years settling into a life in the Blue Mountains.

Because unlike every other time, though Thorin had suffered personal losses, he hadn’t been caving under the loss of his One and their child.  And if Dwalin could now see the cracks beginning to show, then how many others would also pick up on their king’s strain?

It was only then that he truly wished he could knock some sense into the cause of his king’s problems.

**THTHTHTH**

Thorin entered the dining room where the company shared a meal together once every two weeks.  It had been four days since he had shown Dwalin a glimpse of how much a toll the last seven months had on him.  And he was unsure how this meal would go.  In his hand, he held the light mithril shirt he had gifted his wife just before the Battle of the Five Armies.

Dwalin saw the shirt that Thorin clutched in his hand and gave a short nod.  At least the burly warrior agreed that it was time that the rest of the company knew.

Fíli also saw the mithril shirt Thorin was gripping.  “Uncle?”

“Yes, Fíli?”

Fíli’s voice suddenly grew dry as he remembered the significance of that particular shirt his uncle gripped.  “Didn’t you give that to Donnabelle?”

The room got suddenly silent as all the attention of the company focused on Thorin and the mithril shirt he held.  “I did.  She was wearing it the day of the battle.”

“But…” Kíli began and his heart felt a little lighter.  “We never found it.”

“We didn’t.  I found it in my chambers a month after.”

“What?”  Fíli asked.  Ten dwarrow looked at each other and then back at Thorin.  Did that mean their hobbit was still alive or didn’t it?

“How did it get into your chambers?” Nori asked.

 **~Isn’t it obvious?~** Bifur asked.  **~Someone put it there.~**

“Yes, but who?” Bofur questioned.

“Could it have been Donnabelle?”

“No,” Dori protested.  “She died on Ravenhill.”

“But did she?” Ori asked.  “We never found her body.”

Their argument stopped when there came a knocking at the door.  Balin moved to the door to answer it.  All of the dwarves at the dinner table (and in Erebor itself) knew that for someone to interrupt one of the company’s dinners, it was for something that required immediate attention.  Nothing short of an emergency was permitted to cross the threshold of their dining room for at least the duration of the main meal when it was their ‘night’ to reminisce on their journey.  The advisor stopped short when he caught sight of the person that was interrupting the company’s dinner.

“Hello, zanid nadad.”

“Donnabelle?” Balin choked out.

“May I come in?”

He nodded slowly then moved aside so that the hobbit could enter.  She entered quietly and kept her gaze lowered.  Donnabelle showed no signs of being pregnant (and even looked underweight for a healthy hobbit) even though she should have been in her ninth month; the company knew dwarrow pregnancies usually lasted fourteen months.  Did that mean she’d lost the child on Ravenhill when she fought Azog?

Each of them looked the small hobbit over and tried to commit to memory her features.  Her hair was just as long and as thick as before, yet held none of the braids that Thorin had created before the Battle.  There were only two of the most prominent beads and braids still woven at the forefront of her temples, declaring that she was married and that she was under the protection of the house of Durin.  Her face was hollow, gaunt and drawn and her eyes held a haunted look in them.  It looked as though she had not smiled since before the Battle and she had forgotten how to.  And when the company really registered that their burglar was alive (if looking paler and smaller than before) and actually standing in the room with them, their questions began again.  How and why were the two main questions they asked.

“Shazara!” Thorin broke through over the top of the noise the company were making.  The dwarven king stood from the table and looked fully at his wife.  It was the first time since he had worked out she was still alive that he had seen her as the hobbit he’d fallen in love with.  His lips quivered and his voice cracked as he whispered, “Marlelê.”  The next instant, he was at her side, his arms wrapped around her.  He cradled the base of her head with one calloused hand and threaded his other arm around her waist.  Thorin buried his face in Donnabelle’s hair while she buried her nose in the crook of his neck.  One of her hands threaded into his hair and the other went around his waist and up his lower back.  He was the first to pull back, but only far enough to plant a kiss on her forehead and then he buried his face in her hair once more.  They remained wrapped in each other’s arms, content to ignore the conversation going on around them.

“By Durin.  _She’s_ been the one spreading the rumours,” Nori guessed.

“Yes,” Dwalin answered as he watched his king finally _(finally!)_ break down in Donnabelle’s arms after months, years even, of stress and heartache.  Diverting his eyes from the couple, Dwalin flicked his head back to the table and the dwarves tried their hardest to ignore the couple seeking comfort from one another.

The dwarves looked at Dwalin with varying degrees of confusion written on their faces.  “You knew she was alive and you didn’t tell us?”

“I found out a few days ago.  I wanted the rumours stopped.  That was when Thorin told me he was the one that condoned it all.”

“ _Thorin_ did what now?”

“The rumours Donnabelle spread.  Thorin was the one who let her do that; he hopes to change the minds of the people with them.”

Balin closed his eyes and breathed, “Of course.”

“What?”

The advisor looked around the gathered company and explained, “It’s going to take a long time for dwarves to accept Donnabelle as Thorin’s wife.  That may have been one reason she hid after the battle – she may have picked up on Dáin’s disdain before the battle.”

Dwalin scoffed at that.  “ _May_ have, brother?  She gave him a sound tongue lashing.”

“Why?” laughed Bofur.

“Dáin insulted her,” Balin answered, also laughing at the memory.  He grew serious again as he continued.  “He didn’t hide his disapproval of her match with Thorin.  Another reason we may not have known of her survival would be if she was severely injured and was taken from the field before we found her.  Remember, it was only after the Misty Mountains that Thorin truly accepted the lass for who she was.  And if you remember, it took us a long while to include her and accept her as one of our own.”

“Is that why she’s been telling the stories?” Ori asked.

“But she hates the attention,” Fíli said.  “Do you remember the time in Lake-town, just before we left for the mountain?”

“Aye,” Glóin responded.  “She would rather work in the shadows than be thrust in front of everybody.”

Nori frowned.  “Isn’t that what she’s doing, though?  Working in the shadows?  She’s not really drawing attention to herself.  All she’s doing is making sure everyone knows of our journey that brought us here.  The original rumours of the quest wouldn’t have started about her.”

“What do you mean, brother?” Dori asked.

“The trolls,” Nori explained.  “If I remember the original story, it was about how we all rushed in to rescue the fair lass the trolls had taken from us.  When I heard that story, I quickly added that if it hadn’t been for the hobbit’s smooth talking, we’d all be squashed into jelly and made into the trolls’ supper.  It _was_ Donnabelle that had stalled for time and got us out of that incident.  Yes, we did rush in to save her, but ultimately it was her that saved us.”

The others nodded in agreement before Bombur asked: “What about the elves?”

Balin responded to that question.  “The men of Lake-town that came with Bard the day we sat down with just before the battle would have heard the story Thorin told them.  They would have spread _that_ rumour about how much Thorin had learnt from our hobbit, and the deal that she had made with Legolas.  They would have guessed that there were things she’d left behind in the Shire for them to embellish the story.”

“What about the friend of bears?” Bofur asked.  “None of us called her that.”

“Perhaps it was a simple retelling of what Frérin did for her, and how Beorn found her the following morning,” Dwalin said.

“Oh, sweet Mahal!” Bofur breathed.  “Most of the rumours started with us!  At least, all of the ones about our journey.  _She_ started telling the tales of the quest in front of us and we corrected her and started highlighting the things Donnabelle did for us!”

Glóin blinked.  “By Durin, I think you’re right.  I know I’ve defended namadith’s honour on more than one occasion.”

“So have I,” Bombur admitted.  The others, too, realised that they had come to the defence of the little hobbit over the course of the past seven months.  They all knew they wouldn’t have survived to make it to the mountain without the brave little lass working to get them there.

They looked up from the table to where Thorin and Donnabelle were exchanging the barest of kisses.  The couple broke apart and slowly made their way to the table.  Neither were all that willing to part from the other.

“You’ve got questions?” Donnabelle asked as she sat at Thorin’s left-hand side.  Her voice was husky and quiet.  Fíli and Kíli gave her a bright smile and they moved closer to her.  She shifted away from them and closer to Thorin.  Her grip on his left hand grew tighter.  “Please.”  Her voice was barely heard as she clung to their uncle’s side.  Her eyes darted around the room before she turned her head to bury it in Thorin’s shoulder.  She took in several small, ragged breaths.

The two princes backed away.  “What’s wrong with her?”

Their uncle looked at them, just as clueless.  But he whispered against her forehead, “I’m here, agyâdê.  I’m here.”  Thorin, in any other situation, would not have spoken openly of his affection for his wife.  But they were surrounded by their friends, their _family_ , and he felt if anyone needed the reassurance he still loved Donnabelle, it was the people in this room.  Not that the company actually needed the reassurance after they’d seen him break down in _her_ arms earlier.  Now it was _her_ turn to break down.  He felt her take a hold of one of his braids and he moved to lean his forehead on top of hers.

She sniffed.  Took a calming breath in, and then out.  She kept her head resting against Thorin.  “Don’t crowd me right now.  I’m still raw from the Battle.”

“But that was seven moons ago.”

“I know.”  She looked down at her entwined fingers in Thorin’s hand.  “I was like this once before.  It took me nearly a year to recover, and the damage to me then wasn’t nearly as bad.”

“What do you mean?” Balin asked.

Donnabelle looked up at the advisor and she had a tentative smile on her face but her voice was flat as she spoke.  “You all know I can’t control… when I’m emotional.  It’s worse when that’s combined with physical trauma.  Azog threatened to wipe out the line of Durin.  He told me that he would force me to watch as he first killed Fíli and Kíli before he killed Thorin.  And he found out that I was pregnant.  So he told me that _after_ he killed my family, he would kill me.  I was _not_ going to allow that.  I fought him and killed him.  But not before he broke two of my ribs.  And I lost…”  She broke off, unable to speak through her tears.  She buried her face into Thorin’s shoulder and sobbed for the child she lost on Ravenhill.  He gently removed his left hand from hers and wrapped it around her.  Pulling her flushed against his side, he pressed his lips against the crown of her head.  And he felt something wet and salty hit his lips.

It took her several minutes to calm down and continue her tale.  The company could not hide how it warmed them to see that she still sort comfort from Thorin.  She was contented being flushed against his side and she had her fingers wrapped around their marriage braid.

She sniffed again and looked down at where she now gripped Thorin’s thigh.  “When I’m emotionally compromised and suffering from extreme physical trauma, my natural defences kick in.  I present myself as someone that isn't going to be a threat and I know I will get help for my injuries.  It also stops others from asking questions.  People don’t really ‘see’ me as I truly am.  They just see the injuries and forget that I’m a person as well.  Quite often, they will think I am a child of their race and help me recover.  At least, for the first two or three weeks.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.  It’s only ever happened once before to me when Frérin died.  But Beorn _saw_ me before the men came, so he wasn’t affected then.  If any of you were with me on Ravenhill, it wouldn’t have affected you either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bofur and Bifur came around the healing tents, maybe two days after I woke up.  I think it was about 10 days after the battle.  Bofur came into the tent I was in and took one look at me before he walked out again.  He said something like ‘that’s not her.’  And he sounded so dejected.  I tried calling out to you, but my voice wouldn’t work properly.  I could only speak Hobbitish.  Sounds like bells.”

The two cousins closed their eyes.  They remembered that day and the sounds of bells just as Bofur checked the last tent.  When they looked toward the hobbit to apologise, she gave them a watery smile.  “Not your fault.  I didn’t expect that I’d be wounded so badly that I would naturally hide from everyone.  I did not think I would be near the battle at all.”

“Does it happen often?” Balin asked.

Donnabelle shook her head.  “It’s merely myths to the other Changelings in the Shire.  If our natural defence kicks in, it rarely happens and only in extreme circumstances.  I was unfortunate that it happened to me twice.”

“Unfortunate?”

“Last time, it took me eight months for me to look like myself again.  It was another four months before I stopped jumping at every little thing.  It’s taken me nearly as long, this time, to look like a hobbit again.”  She bit her lower lip and looked around the quivering mass of teary eyed dwarves.  “I couldn’t really come up to you lot looking like a dwarf and say, ‘Hey, I’m Donnabelle and I’m alive’.”

“Why is it that you welcome Uncle’s touch?”

“She trusts me to keep her safe,” Thorin responded quietly.  “And I remind her of Frérin.  As a child, she would always go to him when she needed reassurance.  Since he has not been here, she’s come to me a number of times in the past few months for that same reassurance.  Like you and Fíli do for each other.  Now, no more questions for tonight.  Let’s enjoy this meal, shall we?”

The company’s respect for their hobbit and burglar grew that night when they thought of how much she had done and faced on her own since the Battle’s end.  Even before, if the story they’d heard about Azog’s defeat was anything to go on.  She had not (and would not have) been able to ask for any of their help in case their grief was seen as ‘fake’.  Nor, as she said, could she actually tell them who she was without sounding like an idiot.  The dwarves of the Iron Hills and those that came with the caravans from the Blue Mountains would only accept rumours as truth if the ones left behind justly showed their grief in defence of a loved one.  It was only when the first rumours of their journey had begun to spread as the ‘truth’ that other tales of Donnabelle and her courage were added to the mix.

And seeing her now, next to their king, the eleven surviving members of Thorin’s company (they would always miss Óin’s presence at their meals) knew that the hobbit would have just spoken the truth as she saw it.

Each and every one of that company knew deep in their hearts that Thorin’s condoning of the rumours would strengthen their nation and make it great.  For they would not be the same, nor would the dwarves living under Thorin’s rule, without the acceptance and love offered to them in the form of one brave little hobbit lass that was nestled under Thorin’s protective arm.

To them, it did not matter how long it took for her to be truly accepted by the other dwarves: Donnabelle would remain first and foremost their namadith and queen.  Looking at each other, the company wondered what exactly Dís would say when she returned to the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Namadith is ‘little sister’  
> ‘Agyâdê’ is ‘my happiness’  
> ‘Shazara’ is ‘silence’  
> ‘Marlelê’ is ‘my love of all loves’  
> ‘zanid nadad’ is ‘big brother’ (nadad is simply brother)


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dis returns to the mountain and meets the remaining members of the company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to PJ and JRRT.
> 
> Huge thanks to Nikolai and Calenithlon for the actual translations from English to Khuzdul or Sindarin. My Khuzdul would not be as good without them!
> 
>  
> 
> **~Khuzdul~**

Dís arrived with the last caravan of dwarves from the Blue Mountains.  They arrived at Erebor mid-summer, nearly twenty-one months after the Battle of the Five Armies.  She had planned on arriving in her homeland nearly a full year before, yet she was delayed leaving the former halls in the Blue Mountains and had to winter in the Shire (courtesy of Drogo Baggins and his wife, Primula, in Bag End).

It was late afternoon by the time she had arrived through the gates, and the supplies and personal items had been organised and sent to their respective (new) homes.  She smiled as she took in the splendour of the mountain she had been born in.

“My Lady Dís,” a strange dwarrowdam called out, and Dís turned at the sound of her name.  Approaching the princess was a dam Dís guessed would be no older than 150 years.  “I have heard so much about you.  Come, King Thorin is expecting you.”

The princess frowned at the familiar way the other woman seemed around her, though neither woman had met the other.  “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I forget that people recently arriving from other parts may not have heard of me.  Most in these halls call me Gem.”

“Gem?”

Gem snorted.  “That was Glóin.  Then Prince Kíli carried it on and eventually it stuck.  Now nearly everyone calls me that.”

“You know my son?”

“Yes, ma’am.  Both of them.”  Gem gave the princess a half smile that reminded the older dam of her lost brother, Frérin.  Dís shook her head and was quiet for the rest of their journey toward the family dining and living area of the Royal Wing.  Dís could hear a lot of rowdy noise and song going on from the other side of the door and saw her companion shake her head good-naturedly.  Without even knocking, Gem opened the door and entered the room as though she belonged there.

Dís entered slowly and to the princess, it was truly like coming home.  The eight that were in the room did not notice Dís and Gem’s entrance.  Fíli and Kíli were having a mock battle with Ori; Bofur, Bombur and Bifur were organising dinner and Glóin and Dori were in a heated discussion about finances.

Gem, beside the princess, let out a sharp whistle, calling the attention of everyone in the room to her.  “We’ve got one extra for dinner,” she said.  “Hope there’s enough, Bombur.”  And it was only then that the dwarves realised  _who_  was with their burglar.

“Amad!” Fíli and Kíli exclaimed.  The pair of them rushed over to their mother’s side.

While the princess was distracted with her sons, Donnabelle (for Gem was, in fact, the hobbit) caught the eye of Glóin and mouthed ‘Office?’  Glóin nodded briefly and the hobbit disguised as a dwarrowdam left as quietly as she’d come in.

It took Dís a few reassurances and a few double checks of her sons before she noticed she was the only female in the room.  She allowed the distraction of her sons catching her up on everything that had passed since they were together in the Blue Mountains three years before.  After she’d told them of her tales she could not help herself and asked, “So, could someone explain to me plainly: who is Gem and why is she so familiar with all of you and this area of the mountain?  She is not royalty.”

“Mother,” Fíli responded seriously.  “Until we know she trusts you, we cannot say.”

“Fíli,” Dís warned, just as she had many times in the past.  Her tone was one she always used when she wanted her sons to confess something they had done something or were keeping something from her.  She thought that if it had worked in the past, it would work now.

“No, Amad.  We will not tell you,” Fíli returned just as firmly as before.

Dís narrowed her eyes.  “Who are you protecting?”

“Namadith,” Thorin said from the door.  “They have every right to hold to the promise they made to Gem.  It is not their place to tell you who she is.”  The King under the Mountain sent his sister a ‘drop it or I will hurt you’ look.  Dís nodded, yet both siblings knew it would not be the end of their discussion.  Not by a long shot.  Thorin nodded once and his lips twitched upward slightly.  Dís mirrored his expression.  And then he took too large strides toward her as she moved toward him.  He had his arms around her waist and she threw her arms around his neck.  They squeezed each other tightly before he released her.

“Nadad,” she whispered as they parted.  Running her eyes over him, she gave him a smile.  Then her eyes landed on the extra braid he had adorning his left temple.  Dís reached up to indicated the braid and beads she had not seen before (yet she knew exactly what they indicated).  “What’s this?”

Thorin had a tender smile on his face when he picked up on which braid his sister was talking about.  “I found someone, Dís.”

The princess raised an eyebrow.  “And married him, I gather.”

“We married on the road.  Unofficially, of course.”

“The official ceremony won’t be until we know it’s safe for  _her,_ ” Dwalin added.  He’d entered the room when Thorin had.  “Hello, Princess.”

Dís looked at her brother’s best friend and guard.  “Safe?”

“Yes,” a new voice joined the conversation.  “Safe for both me and any children Thorin and I may have in the future.”  Dís turned to the door where Balin and Donnabelle had just entered.  The princess gave Balin a respectful nod and then took in the small hobbit lass that also had a corresponding braid in her hair that reflected Thorin’s.  Plus some other beads that Dís recognised that placed the hobbit under the protection of the house of Durin.  And the small (barefooted with beards on her feet) woman was exactly as her sons had described her.

“So you must be Donnabelle, the hobbit my sons have written so much to me about.  But I thought you died.”

Donnabelle shook her head slightly.  “No.  I was wounded badly during the Battle.  I don’t remember much about  _how_  I got from the field to the tents of healing.  I just remember being in a lot of pain and losing a lot of blood.  Those that looked after me and nursed me back to health during those first two weeks did not know who I was and these loveable idiots didn’t recognise me when they came searching.  All they saw was a small, wounded girl-child.  By the time I was coherent enough to realise what had happened, these dwarves were already morning my ‘death’.”

“We thought it was safer for Belle to remain hidden once we realised she was still alive until there wasn’t the same level of danger levelled at her,” Thorin added quietly as he moved to Donnabelle’s side.  He wrapped one of his strong arms around her waist.

Dís looked at her brother’s movements and hid a smile.  She knew her brother well and knew he rarely offered physical comfort to anyone.  And for him to openly show his affection and claim in such a way meant that he’d found a keeper.  But she did not let her humour at the situation distract her from her confusion.  “But why?”

“Dáin called me a Shire-rat when he discovered I was married to Thorin  _and_  pregnant with his child before the battle.  If the Lord of the Iron Hills did not accept me as the King under the Mountain’s wife, then it was more than likely others would feel the same.”  Donnabelle’s voice was hollow as she answered the question.  Dís closed her eyes at the pain that laced the younger woman’s voice – she, too, had lost a child before she had Fíli.

“I’m sorry,” Dís said.

“There will be others,” Thorin responded, unable to look at his sister.  His voice, too, had the same pain and hollowness to it that Donnabelle’s had, yet his voice was rawer than his wife’s was.  Dís felt her eyes tear up a bit; by the fear in Thorin’s voice, the couple had been trying to get pregnant and he feared that perhaps they never would.  The princess knew herself that getting pregnant took time, yet she also thought that something could have happened in the battle itself that prevented Donnabelle from conceiving now.

Balin caught Donnabelle’s eye and gave her an encouraging smile.  He mouthed ‘Tell him.’

The hobbit nodded, bit her lower lip and ran her hand over Thorin’s hand on her waist.  She shyly looked away from everyone.  “We should probably eat the food before it gets cold,” she suggested.  The company nodded and made their way to the table.  But the hobbit stopped Thorin from joining the others at the table.  He frowned and looked down at her.

Dís sent a questioning glance in her brother’s and sister-in-law’s direction before Balin gave the princess a smile.

“This time, I think she’s got the right idea.”

“For what?”

“Last time she told us, we were a little enamoured with the gold and we were trying to find the Arkenstone,” the advisor responded.  “We left her to deal with everything on her own for two weeks before she yelled at us about the gem Thorin gave her.”

Dís smirked.  “Bet he loved that.”

“He didn’t,” Balin chuckled.  “But it did knock some sense back into us all.”

“Wait… ‘Gem’?” asked Dís.  If the princess remembered correctly, Donnabelle wore the same beads as the dwarrowdam that brought her to the royal wing and had very similar hair colouring... and ear shape, if she recalled.  But that didn’t make sense, did it?  “Is _she_  Gem?” When silence met the princess’ question, Dís knew her guess was right and asked, “How is that possible?”

“A family gift,” Donnabelle answered.  “Perhaps one day I will explain.”  She smiled over the gathered company.  “There is one title that kurdula will be adding to his growing list in a few months.  Dashat, uzbad-dashat, nadad, iraknadad, bâha, idad, uzbad, umral…” she trailed just as Fíli and Kíli shoved their hands over their ears at the last title the hobbit mentioned.  The rest of the company started laughing at the two princes and their reaction to  _not_  wanting a mental picture of their uncle being  _any_ one’s lover, even if that someone was their aunt.  Donnabelle giggled and shifted closer to Thorin.  Laying her head on his shoulder, she placed her hand over his heart as her free arm slid around his waist.

Thorin smiled as he slid his arms around her and laid his cheek on top of her head.  Dís thought the pair of them looked wonderful together.  Never before had she seen her brother so content.  Whatever Donnabelle had told him before had lifted his spirits.  She frowned slightly before she felt her eyes widen.  Glancing down to where Thorin had his hands over Donnabelle’s stomach, she tried piecing things together.  “No,” the princess breathed with a smile on her face.

The dwarven king’s smile widened at his little sister.  She had guessed.  He waited until Fíli and Kíli had withdrawn their hands from their ears before he added his soon to be new title, “Adad.”

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that’s it for this tale.  
>  **Khuzdul used in this chapter:**  
>  "Amad" is mother  
> "Namadith" is "little sister"  
> "Namad" is "brother"  
> “Kurdula” is “my heart of all hearts”  
> The titles of Thorin in order as Donnabelle lists them: “Son, prince (translates as king’s son), brother, cousin (who is male), friend, uncle, king, lover…”  
> And Thorin’s last word of ‘Adad’ means ‘father’.
> 
>  **There are three one shots that go with this:**  
>  ‘When Donnabelle Met Frerin’, ‘Eleven Yellow Roses’ and ‘The Journey Home’; as well as a collection of short stories, they can be found under the title ‘Snippets of a Domesticated King’.

**Author's Note:**

> For those that want to know where this story idea came from, it actually came from watching the extended version of An Unexpected Journey where we meet a young, seemingly black haired, bright blue eyed, Bilbo Baggins (aged 4), and later, we get a considerably different brown haired, blue-grey eyed Bilbo (aged 50) that goes on an adventure with the dwarves. In my mind, the differences between these two ages left me puzzled (I know time changes people, but usually not that much! Eye colour is constant after a child’s first birthday I think) and this is my way of explaining it. And if any of you want to write along a similar vein, all that I worked with is that Bilbo is a changeling, similar to Mystique from the X-Men franchise, or something similar where he could change his appearance slightly. How would that affect the story of The Hobbit?


End file.
